


till the stars burn out above you

by clintnatalias



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, For the flavor, Friends to Lovers, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sharing a Bed, Sprinkling of Dom!Steve vibes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clintnatalias/pseuds/clintnatalias
Summary: It’s hard for her brain to wrap around the fact that this is really happening, she’s really going to marry Steve. It’s a strange notion, the idea that she’s getting married at all, let alone to Captain America. The whole affair seems like a fever dream.Steve and Wanda get married so she can apply for a greencard.Slow updates.
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Steve Rogers, background Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff, background Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Comments: 14
Kudos: 59





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> A few disclaimers. For the purposes of making my life easier, I have decided that they spoke Russian in Sokovia because I had too much random knowledge from Clintnat fics and I can't let it go to waste. Also, I do what I want. Lastly, Vision doesn't exist! Why? Honestly, I forgot about the pink toaster until I was halfway through this.
> 
> This is an absolute beast of a fic, still under construction. Currently writing the honeymoon, though most of it has been plotted out. Thought I'd get it out in the universe before I changed my mind. And who knows, maybe there will be some extra scenes with different POV if I can cobble all my random post-it's together. 
> 
> Thank you, Cass, for proofreading, putting up with my atrocious typing, and being the best one-woman hype squad I could ask for. 
> 
> Check out the [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/clintnatalias/steve-and-wandas-wedding/) and [the playlist for the wedding](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3kwPB4eTzWyQ9DrK2lY2Re), plus the [playlist that is just the soundtrack to the story.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5QxAN1hD4v1a5hRzW2XXNX?si=IUhHPjIXTBieHQW-pXkxGA).

As she stands on the small platform—the white dress glistening in the mirrors under the bright but soft overhead chandeliers—Wanda wonders, briefly, if this is all an elaborate dream. But the fabric is cool and smooth under her fingertips, and her left hand feels heavier than usual from the latest addition to her regular assortment of rings. It’s a beautiful ring, solid, shiny, with a diamond that sits at its center accompanied on each side by small twin rubies, all held together by intricate and delicate metalwork. 

The light catches it, streaming in from the windows, and for a moment she’s enthralled as her hand shifts this way and that and the colorful fragmentation is displayed against the skirt of the dress.

It’s hard for her brain to wrap around the fact that this is really happening, she’s really going to marry Steve. It’s a strange notion, the idea that she’s getting married at all, let alone to Captain America. The whole affair seems like a fever dream.

If she’s being honest with herself, she’d given up on the institution—not because her parents had an awful marriage (though she doesn’t remember _that_ much about it) but it just hadn’t seemed like something crucial in her life. Once Pietro and she were on their own, staying alive was infinitely more important than daydreaming about holding hands with a boy or what kind of dress she would like to have. And then the experiments came and she wasn’t _just_ Wanda anymore. She frightened even herself at the beginning, but she’s making her peace with it; of course, that doesn’t make other people less afraid of her. Why bother fantasizing about a wedding when her dating pool is nonexistent?

That’s part of the reason she doesn’t understand why Steve agreed at all; surely he must have dozens, hundreds of people that would kill to be with him. She hasn’t had the courage to ask him yet.

She shakes her head to bring herself back to the present just in time to see that Pepper and Natasha aren’t chatting anymore, the former is walking up to her with a soft smile. 

“How does it feel?” She asks, and her eyes aren’t on her face but the dress, taking in the seams and stitching. It makes her nervous, her palms sweaty for a moment—but she resists the urge to wipe them on the dress.

“It fits well, I can breathe and move easily. And I can walk without falling on my face, so I think that is good,” she answers, her heart fluttering behind her sternum. Her hand slips between the folds in the fabric and her smile widens. “And it has pockets.”

Pepper finally meets her eyes and gives her a conspiratorial wink. “We’re all set, then. I’ll have them send it over to the compound when we leave.”

One of the ever-present boutique clerks helps her down and into the changing room, back to the comfort of her dark clothing and boots.

She feels like she can breathe again as they leave the bright white location in search for a spot where to have lunch, and thankfully the other two do most of the talking, though the wedding is always around the corner, coming up as a never-ending list to be tackled: the optics of the event and the days leading up to it, the photos they need from the rehearsal, they have to get everything ready for the caterers, she and Steve need to go out at least two more times to be seen in public according to the PR team… It’s a lot.

Wanda’s head feels stuffed to the brim with information about her upcoming nuptials, so she’s pleased when the conversation shifts to their significant others. Apparently, Stark (still not her favorite person in the world) went two days without sleep for the third time this month, and Clint fell asleep in some too-small place waiting to scare Sam and now can’t turn his head correctly. Wanda calls him an old man and they all laugh, Natasha turning to her with a smirk.

“Hardly old when compared to yours,” she says and, even though it’s teasing and it’s not like _that_ , her ears burn. 

Pepper stays in the city after their meal since her job isn’t on an only-when-the-world-needs-saving basis while Wanda and Natasha make the drive back to the compound where they slip away in silence. 

Wanda finds herself reading in the lounge by the conference table, incredibly thankful for the automatic lights that adjust as gradually as the sun trickles across the sky towards the horizon. She’s not sure how long she’s been there when the fridge door closes with a slight clatter, snapping her attention away from a paragraph she’s read three times already.

Steve’s kind smile greets her when she looks up, though he only meets her eyes briefly before going back to the construction of what appears to be two sandwiches. Progress on her book seems to evade her so she sets it aside and crosses the distance to the kitchen, bringing along her empty mug to the counter where she props her chin on her hand and watches him work. He’s actually making three sandwiches and her eyebrows knit together involuntarily. 

“I thought you and the guys had pizza for lunch.”

“Mm? Oh yeah, we did.” His tone is casual. She doesn’t think he understands what she’s saying. 

“Don’t you usually eat one whole pizza yourself?” 

An errant tomato rolls away from him and she pushes it back with a little nudge from her powers. He glances up and there’s a funny smile on his face that makes him look almost embarrassed. “Thanks. I did eat a pizza but in my defense,” he gestures at her with a slice of cheese before laying it down, “It was an early lunch.”

She chuckles and raises her hands in mock surrender before walking to the sink to wash her mug. It’s always shocking just how much Steve can put down in one sitting. The mug is placed on the drying rack and he’s chopping up vegetables with his back to her, so she takes a moment to take a deep breath before speaking up.

“We went for the last dress fitting.”

“I heard. Nat took you, right?” As he speaks, he turns his head sideways to acknowledge her, the knife stopping for a second. She walks back to the counter to make it easier on him. 

“Nat and Pepper, yes.”

“How did it go?” The sandwiches are taking shape in a neat assembly line which borders on adorable.

“It’s all done. Fits perfect. It was a little surreal, being dressed like that.”

He lays the remaining bread slices on top and looks up to meet her eyes with an honest, warm smile. “I’m sure you looked beautiful.” Her cheeks feel hot so she looks away from his gaze, shrugging. “Any pictures I can see?”

An involuntary chuckle escapes her at the question and she bites her lip to contain it. His unsure—but not unkind—chuckle soothes her mild embarrassment easily. “What’s so funny?”

“Is it not bad luck to see the dress before the wedding?”

“Bad luck? That’s the rumor,” he concedes, cleaning up after himself. Always so neat. 

“I think we would need the most and best luck with our marriage.”

“Yeah, that’s probably fair.” He’s all smiles as usual and she hates how much she likes it. She definitely hates the way her stomach turns and flips when he gives her a real grin as he laughs at something she said; it makes her feel like a stupid little girl. 

Steve picks up the large dinner plate and motions for her to follow him to the table with a nod of his head. “You want one?” Were it anyone else she would assume they were asking out of politeness, no expectations for her to agree but with Steve she’s almost certain he absolutely wouldn’t mind if she took up his offer.

“No, thank you. Big lunch. I have to still fit in the dress in two weeks.”

His brows seem to furrow slightly as he sits and she joins him across the table. “Are you worried about that? I don’t want you to be going hungry because of a dress.” His tone is of genuine concern and her hand reaches towards him, her fingers hovering just above his wrist. 

“I am not going hungry.” She means it, and it’s accompanied by a strange feeling she can’t quite place. She often went hungry when living in the streets with Pietro, to be able to say those words now feels wrong when he’s not there with her, finally free of such a haunting worry. Her brother should be there with her for all of this and the thought makes her chest feel hollow as she retreats into herself. 

Steve’s hand is warm when it wraps around hers, a little rough. It calls her back to the present.

She gives him a soft smile and pulls her hand to her lap, nodding to his food. “I’m keeping you. You should not go hungry either.” She had wanted to talk more, but she knows she doesn’t like to eat while someone watches her, so she stands before he gets a chance to stop her.

“Wanda—”

“I’ll see you later, yes? Pepper says we have to go out again soon, before the big day.”

He sighs and gives her a nod. He’s letting her go. She’s thankful for him, for his understanding. He never tries to push her when it isn’t needed.

“Alright. Let me know if there’s something you want to do in the city,” he says, grabbing the first sandwich tightly like he’s strangling it as if it would run away if he didn’t. She nods and turns around, picking up her discarded book on the way. 

She’s restless throughout the afternoon, bleeding over into the night. She knows she’s going to have a rough night just from the way her thoughts are buzzing, her head too loud. Falling asleep will prove difficult and even then sleep is not a guarantee of rest. She pulls the covers back with more force than strictly necessary and gets into bed.

Wanda gives it an honest try, closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, counts to a hundred and then again, kicks a foot out from under the covers, then kicks them off altogether before finally giving up.

She’s under no illusion that everyone else is asleep but she thinks it’s a ridiculous coincidence that she walks into Steve—literally, her head meets his bicep as she turns the corner—as she’s making her way to the kitchen. His hand is still warm, solid when it wraps around her wrist as her step falters.

“I thought you went to bed,” he says, his frown seeming more pronounced thanks to the shadows created by the dim light. 

“I couldn’t fall asleep,” she answers. She doesn’t think she could possibly tell him anything _but_ the truth when he looks at her like that. 

His expression softens in an instant and he smiles but his hand is still wrapped around her wrist and somehow his mere touch reduces her lung capacity by half. “Tea?” He asks then, and it shouldn’t make her melt the way it does that he knows what she resorts to on sleepless nights. 

“Yes.” Her voice is too breathy, she clears her throat and tries again. “Yes, some tea. Do you want a cup?” She says but doesn’t move, his hand tethering her to the spot. He seems to realize this and lets go, though it feels like his fingers linger ever so slightly before he steps back.

“I’d love one.” He moves off to the side to let her lead the way, which she does in silence.

With anyone else, she would’ve felt suffocated by it, but Steve has a calm energy she can’t fully explain. So she doesn’t mind preparing their tea, the water put to boil, the bags each in a mug.

He watches her with a measured expression, one she can never read—and she tries her best not to look inside her teammates’ minds if she can help it—so she makes an effort not to look at him for too long. There’s nothing left to do but wait and she thinks continuing with the silence might be too much. Wanda takes a breath and leans against the other edge of the counter, watching Steve at an angle.

Her eyes note the workout clothes and she frowns. “You hadn’t gone to bed yet?” There were plenty of more important conversations they needed to have, but her brain feels as if it’s playing catch up with her mouth.

“My head was too loud, tried to fix it by hitting the gym. I was gonna shower and go to bed when—” He motions to her and she smiles tightly. The comfortable silence returns and she sighs, leaning against the cold stone counter.

And then she’s speaking up once more, this time her eyes turned firmly to the ground. “I wanted to thank you again. It finally feels _real_ and— You know you didn’t have to do this, so I wanted to say thank you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she’s worried he’s changed his mind two weeks before they say _I do_ and she looks up with fear choking her as she meets his eyes.

He sees it instantly and takes half a step forward, almost enough to close the small distance between them. “Hey, hey. I was just trying to find a way to say— There’s— Listen, you don’t have to thank me,” he says, his hand reaching out but stopping inches before it meets her skin. She would swear there’s an electric current surging between them. “I’m happy to do this.”

Wanda surprises herself with the snort of laughter that comes from her at the statement. “Oh, I am sure you are absolutely thrilled for the arrangement,” she says, stepping away and turning away from him, grasping at anything she can do to busy herself, but the damn water won’t boil. Her chest feels constricted by anxiety she hadn’t let herself feel around anyone so far. 

“Why do you say it like that?” His voice isn’t angry, or upset even, but it makes her heart ache ever so slightly in a way she can’t and doesn’t want to explain. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if people didn’t believe this. You could do much better, I’m not— Nevermind.” Her lungs aren’t filling out and her hands are shaking and this isn’t supposed to be happening.

“Wanda.”

She braces herself for his touch, equal parts hungry for it and wary of it. It dawns on her that she’s starved of contact ever since— She wants Steve to touch her more than she _doesn’t_ want him to, and the realization is staggering. Her hand reaches out to steady herself with the counter, desperately hoping the motion is smooth enough to pass it off as checking on the water. With such expensive appliances, she would think water would boil faster.

Giving her back to him for so long isn’t particularly subtle so she tries to school her expression into something neutral. He’s in an odd position when she faces him, as if he had meant to reach out but change his mind halfway.

“I think I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he says, and she _hates it_. 

Huffing, she brings out the honey from the pantry, shaking her head as her lips curl into a sardonic smile. “You can divorce me once I am a citizen, yes? I promise.” Saying the words out loud makes her throat ache and Steve’s expression looks faintly pained.

He opens his mouth, but the kettle cries out and she turns instantly to tend to it. She wills her hand not to tremble as she pours the water, not bothering to let the tea steep before she’s pushing the mug into his hand. 

“We can cross that bridge when we get to it,” he states simply, setting down the tea. “Let’s focus on getting through the next two weeks first. You said Pepper wants us to go out, yeah? How about I take you to dinner?” 

Wanda looks into her tea as she stirs honey into it. “Sure. We can do a dinner.” 

He sighs and stays quiet for a minute that feels eternal. Maybe leaving her room was a mistake. “I don’t mind marrying you, Wanda; for several reasons. And tonight isn’t the night to discuss them, but I want you to know that you’re not _keeping_ me from anything. It’s not like my love life is particularly active. Or my personal life in general.” He lets out a small chuckle before continuing. “If it weren’t for you I probably would never get married. But, above all, I’m happy that I can help keep you here, with us.”

She doesn’t meet his eyes but she nods. Her voice is nowhere to be found, though she doesn’t think she would be able to organize her thoughts into coherent sentences. Wanda isn’t particularly proud of herself when she turns around and leaves without acknowledging him in the slightest. 

It takes all her self control not to scream when she gets back into her room, she lasts long enough to set the tea down and press a thick pillow to her face before she lets it out. She doesn’t even understand why she’s reacting like this, why suddenly everything feels so different. Maybe it was the finality of having the last dress fitting or that there are only two weeks before the filled-in-with-red square on her calendar, but suddenly it's too much and Steve looking at her the way he does twists up her insides. It’s a silly crush, one that grew and slowly snared her over flower shop visits and cake tasting and pretend dates. It’s out of control now, and she’s going to _marry him_. It’s like a nightmare disguised as a girl's perfect fantasy. 

At least the emotional rollercoaster tires her enough to fall asleep much more easily than before, even without the aid of the cup of tea now forgotten on her nightstand. 

# ———

“You look like shit, you need to get more sleep leading up to the wedding,” Natasha says matter of factly as she pours the now-custom two cups of coffee, one with creamer and one without. 

Wanda grumbles a vague nonsensical response and gets her own coffee before picking up a banana, only getting a real answer out after the first sip. “Didn't fall asleep until late,” she explains, enjoying the sensation of warmth spreading through her body, making her feel less like a zombie. Maybe keeping quiet would have been best she realizes belatedly when Natasha has that look on her face next, the one that says she’s out for blood. Metaphorically.

It’s the look that promises seemingly innocent questions in her quest for the juicy truth. “I saw Steve going back to his room pretty late, too. Those two things related?”

Natasha knows this is all an elaborate (and unreasonably expensive) ruse but still finds any opportunity to tease them about their supposed torrid affair. She’s almost certain Natasha knows about her silly crush on Steve. Dread washes over her at the thought but changing the subject will only dig her in further, so she shrugs. “He was coming back from the gym when I went to make tea. Made some for him. Don’t know what he did after.”

Clint announces his arrival with a loud yawn, a welcome disruption. He looks more asleep than awake as he walks to Natasha, who gives him the black coffee, and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth before he moves to find something to eat from the fridge. 

Wanda watches them curiously, noting the way Natasha rolls her eyes at the kiss but her lips still curl into a smile when he turns away, a smile that is mirrored in his own expression at the same time. She finds herself smiling as well until she meets Natasha’s gaze once more. It’s intense, burning almost, but not exactly accusatory. Briefly, she wonders if the woman in front of her has some sort of emotional x-ray vision, but shakes away the thought.

“Did you tell him the PR team wants you to go out again? The perfect excuse to get out of training, a weekend date night.”

Wanda’s eyes narrow slightly but she nods as she chews a bite of banana. “He said we can go to dinner. Maybe tonight.” She doesn't like this conversation, what lurks behind each question and each response, the way Natasha is reading her expression or how Clint is pretending (she’s pretty sure he’s pretending) to not be paying attention as he inhales a bowl of cereal from where he sits on the countertop. Damn spies. 

Picking up the banana peel, Wanda stands and makes her way out, discarding her trash on the way. “I have to go do my run,” she explains, though they are already absorbed in their own little bubble, Natasha having moved to stand between his legs as he laughs softly at something she said. 

She does go on a run once she finishes her coffee, but the reason she’s running is hardly that she wanted to train but because she needed to get out of her own head. She amuses herself by thinking about the fact that she's running from her problems in a very literal way as she laces up her shoes. 

As she lets the hot water wash away the sweat from her skin she’s successfully forgotten about the events from the previous night and it’s not until she sees a notification light up her phone as she dries her hair that it all comes rushing back.

_7 pm tonight. I made reservations._

She doesn’t know where Steve is taking her, but she’s going to need an outfit that is less ‘I’m not an active member of society today’ and more ‘my fiance is taking me out for a date’. No sweatpants for her.

One of the unexpected, but welcome, side effects of these outings is the fact that she gets to witness Steve Rogers wear semi-formal clothing. Just because she knows her crush is stupid doesn’t mean she can’t appreciate the sights. And it truly is a sight in front of her, the blond donning tailored black slacks and a deep gray button-up shirt. He hasn’t rolled the sleeves back, but the way the fabric hugs his biceps is more than enough to make her stare when he’s not looking. He always manages to make her feel underdressed, her burgundy long dress and sandals feeling bland in comparison, but it’s too late. 

The way his lips curl into the wisp of a smile when he notices her coming down the hall calms her nerves. He doesn’t seem upset about her previous abrupt exit. “Ready to go? We’re taking a car since I figured you’d wear a dress. I don’t think dresses and motorcycles are a good combination. At least, not if we want to stay out of the press,” he jokes as he walks with her to the exit, where, effectively, a slick car is awaiting them. 

“I can wear pants next time,” she says like an idiot as she gets into the car. She’s thankful that he closes the door and walks around the other side, giving her a few seconds to scrunch up her expression in embarrassment before she schools it back to a more neutral expression, flashing a soft smile when the car gets in motion. She knows they should be acting already since they’re technically in public, but she can’t find it in herself to think of something to sell the idea.

For all that Natasha teases Steve for his acting skills, she’s pretty sure he blows her out of the water. 

“Wanna know where we’re going or do you wanna be surprised?” He asks once they’re on the main road, the city steadily becoming larger before them.

She turns to look at him and blinks, then finally gives him a full smile before reaching to pat his arm gently, not enough to disturb the steering wheel. “Surprise me.” Maybe they won’t win any Oscars, but she thinks they might be just good enough. 

The trip is quiet, soft music playing on the stereo she doesn’t bother to increase the volume on. Her hand itches to touch him again as it lays on her lap. 

Wanda doesn’t know if asking to be surprised was such a good idea as the minutes tick by, anxiety coiling in her gut, worry that it’s somewhere crowded or too fancy or too strange. Her worries prove to be unfounded (of course they were, it’s Steve) when the car rolls to a stop in front of a place that takes her breath away.

They’re still in the outskirts of the city in a lovely little patch of greenery and the building blends in with its wood frame and large glass window, illuminated by the warm glow of dozens of lamps mimicking candlelight. Soft string music trickles down the stairway as Steve helps her out of the car. For a moment, she thinks she’s in a dream.

“Steve… It’s beautiful. I don’t think I’m dressed well enough for this,” she whispers, clinging to his arm as they make their way up to the entrance.

“Nonsense, you look wonderful,” he says in her ear before taking half a step forward to request their table, but she’s not completely reassured. The hostess seems slightly dazzled by Steve, but she knows people just react like that to him, and anyway, he’s doing a good job at acting like he has eyes for only her. 

Wanda’s stomach is filled with butterflies as they’re shown to their table out on the deck under fairy lights and she can hardly take her eyes away from their surroundings long enough to notice a waiter already standing by their side, offering something to drink. Her lips form a smirk as she meets Steve’s eyes and she orders herself a glass of white wine. She notes his eyebrows go up slightly, but instead of protesting he orders the same.

As the waiter walks away she tilts her head to the side, her smile growing. “I hope you are not going to turn me in for underage drinking,” she teases.

He gives a soft laugh and takes her hand with no warning, the movement sure and deliberate. “I think, if you’re getting married, you should be allowed to have a glass of wine with your dinner if it’s what you want. At any rate, if we get caught we can say I forgot the age requirement went up.”

His hand is warm and comforting and he looks beautiful in this light and she’s certain her lung capacity is half of its usual level because as she looks into his eyes she can’t seem to get air in her body fast enough. She might not make it through the dinner alive. 

“We should pick our food,” she mumbles after a moment when she blinks herself out of the stupor, wanting nothing more than to disappear behind the menu.

She’s thankful that none of the items are too out-there but she still goes for something safe–fish in a creamy sauce with a side salad. Steve seems to have made up his mind as well, setting aside the menu and redirecting all his attention back to her. It’s almost too much, the heaviness of his gaze. Wanda clears her throat and puts her hands on her lap, rubbing her wrist anxiously.

“You’re nervous,” he says simply, stating a fact.

Honestly, she thought she was hiding it better. Her cheeks feel hot at being called out. “A little bit.”

Steve crosses his arms on the edge of the table and leans closer. “What are you nervous about? The wedding?” The implied question _‘or about this?_ ’ doesn’t escape her. She stays quiet, gives him a tight smile and, in return, he gives her a reassuring one. “Let’s talk about something that’s not the wedding, then. Well, only sort of about the wedding. Do you know what you’re doing for your bachelorette party?”

Her eyebrows go up at the question. She’d mostly forgotten about that part of wedding preparations, but the plan—devised by Pepper as much of this wedding has been—comes to mind easily enough. Wanda nods and relaxes in her chair. “Spa day. Get late breakfast, go to a spa to relax for the big day. I think it’s a good plan. What about you? Should I worry about strippers being involved?”

Steve’s cheeks seem to turn pink, but she can’t quite tell under this lighting. He chuckles and shakes his head, looking down at the linen tablecloth. “No, no strippers.”

He leans away from the table to clear up space when the waiter comes with their drinks and they give their meal orders soon after.

Steve hasn’t taken his eyes off her all evening and, though she doesn’t find it unnerving per se, she finds herself weary under his scrutinizing gaze, worried that he’ll finally find something about her that will make him change his mind, call the whole thing off. And maybe the worry shows on her face because a small crease appears between his eyebrows and his hand reaches across the table, her own moving to meet it before her brain can stop it.

“What’s wrong? Do you not like it here? We can go somewhere else, it’s no problem. I want you to be comfortable.” His voice is so earnest it makes her chest hurt.

“No, no. The restaurant is fine, Steve. It’s wonderful. Just… I can’t tell why you’re looking at me like that.”

His expression shifts into a rueful smile. “It's nothing you did if that’s what you’re worried about.” She lets her shoulders relax and his smile seems almost sad then, which only worries her more. “It’s nothing bad, either. I promise. I’m not going to change my mind.” His words are reassuring, but the worried expression is making her hand sweaty in his.

“Steve…” She doesn’t know what she wants to say, so she's a little relieved when he squeezes her hand to stop her words.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” Her voice is softer than before and this isn’t strictly because she’s making sure no one overhears anything suspicious. Steve takes a deep breath and straightens his spine, his gaze even more intense, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns along her knuckles, seemingly without realizing.

“I want to make you a promise. Just hear me out, yeah? Then I’ll answer whatever question you have.” He pauses; she doesn’t know if he’s still gathering his thoughts or if he’s waiting for her to respond, so she gives him a short nod to be safe.

She’ll try not to interrupt, even if her stomach is an anxious knot.

“I want you to know that I’m going to take care of you.” Her mouth opens halfway and then stops, though it takes some effort. He seems grateful. “In the time I grew up, when you got married she became your top priority, your everything. You worked to provide, had eyes for no one but her, you came home to the love of your life and you’d try to make her happy. Above all, you were meant to keep her safe.” His gaze finally breaks away and she realizes she’s been holding her breath. “Which, I guess, is pretty much the same as now, I hope.” He rubs a hand across his brow and takes a deep breath, tightens the grip on her hand. “I guess what I’m trying to say is: I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever. And I’m all in. I couldn’t be happier to be doing this with you.”

He takes a sip of his wine and clears his throat, chuckling seemingly at himself. “I understand now why Clint told me to write my vows down beforehand.”

Wanda can’t stop staring at him, her heart in her throat but in a good way, and she doesn’t know where to start, but now it's her turn to squeeze his hand while her brain comes back online. There are many things she wants to say but several of them she doesn't want to risk someone overhearing. What comes out of her mouth next isn’t _all_ she now needs to say to him, but maybe the sentiment will be enough.

“I promise to be a good wife for you. I want to be happy with you.”

He meets her eyes and his free hand comes to rest on top of hers, effectively holding it between both of his. “And I know we will be.” 

His eyes shift for a moment and, after the smallest pause, adds with a smile, “You already made me the happiest man in the world when you said yes.” She hides her surprise and confusion with a bland smile, pulling her hand back to her lap when he lets go. Their waiter appears from behind her a moment later, explaining the overtly sentimental—and untrue—words. 

The food is delicious and she thanks Steve for bringing her, she definitely wouldn’t have tried it herself. She thinks they make a good pair, finds that she didn’t need the wine to relax after all as the meal goes on, and the tone of the conversation becomes less charged, they’re at ease with one another. Calm. Happy. 

Wanda realizes that she really likes spending her time with him, but she can’t tell if that’s just her schoolgirl crush.

By the time their plates are cleared and their glasses empty she feels almost silly for how nervous she had been. She’s letting her head rest on her hand as they talk, an easy smile spreading on her lips, her free hand entwined with his. She doesn't think about how easy it is to fall into their act, how easy they can just accept it once they get over their initial apprehension. They fall quiet for a moment and as they smile at each other she's certain any onlookers would be fooled into thinking they’re a couple absolutely besotted. 

Steve lets out a sigh and looks around for a moment. She can hear Natasha's voice in her ear, _looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature._ She wonders what Steve sees that she doesn’t. He’d tell her if there was something wrong.

He meets her eyes again and his smile is unwavering. “I just saw the most delicious looking cheesecake pass by, what do you say we share some?”

“On the condition that you eat most of it, yes? I already ate a lot.”

“You eat as much as you want, doll, I promise I won’t starve on your account.” She narrows her eyes at him briefly but doesn’t say anything, merely sits back and smiles.

It’s the best cheesecake she’s ever tasted, and Wanda makes sure to say as much, prompting him to promise to get her said cheesecake whenever she wants. Wanda laughs and calls him ridiculous for it. 

When he pays for their meal her stomach feels strangely hollow as if she hadn’t eaten a delicious meal just before, but she thinks she does a pretty good job at hiding her discomfort.

Time seems to slip by when she’s with him, she doesn’t realize quite how late it is until she gets a message from Natasha. Wanda chuckles as they make their way down the front steps and towards their car.

“What is it?” He asks, glancing over curiously. The tips of her ears are red.

“Nothing, just— Natasha sent me a text that is only vaguely suggestive emojis,” she says, hyper-focused on not tripping down the stairs, or at least that’s what she tells herself.

“Oh, yeah. I have about fifteen of those between Sam and Nat, they’re like children. Worse than children.” Her mild embarrassment is washed away by amusement.

“What? Why are they teasing you? They know this isn’t—” She stops herself from saying _real_ , pausing for a moment in front of the car door he’s holding open for her. 

“Why? Because they think it’s their lives’ mission to embarrass me at any opportunity. I guess it’s only logical that now it also includes my fiancée.” The word leaves his lips so naturally for a second it feels real. She’s not so foolish, though, and she shoves the thought away as she gets in the car. 

She’s glad they don’t have to pretend in the car, that they don’t have to hold hands or look into each other’s eyes with love on their way back home. 

Wanda knows it will prove increasingly difficult the closer the wedding gets, but she wants to keep at least a modicum of separation between the Steve and Wanda that have been carrying on a secret, torrid affair, and the Steve and Wanda that are just teammates. She hopes it’s possible, at least. She doesn’t think her heart can handle Steve Rogers laying on the compliments and puppy dog eyes without some sort of respite in between. 

She’s aware it’s a near ridiculous request, they’re supposed to be madly in love and are literally getting married in two weeks, just to secure her stay in the country, but surely keeping her heart in one piece is a little bit important. 

The ride is quiet but comfortable, his presence reassuring and, like the perfect gentleman that he is, he helps her out of the car and walks her all the way to the quarters. He is just next door to her, but he still makes a point of dropping her off at the door to mark the end of their night. 

They stand just outside her door, the hallway is dimly lit and quiet, and she can feel her heart beating hard in her chest. She’s not sure why she hasn’t just opened the door —it’s not even locked— and gone inside, she just knows she definitely doesn’t mind looking at him just a little longer. 

His hand moves —slowly, deliberately— to push a lock of hair back behind her shoulder with the rest, the back of his hand ever so slightly grazing the bare skin of her shoulder before he pulls his hands against his sides. “I had a very nice night, Wanda. Thank you.”

“I had a nice time too,” she hums, on autopilot.

“Good night.” And with that, he turns away from her and down the hall a few feet towards his own door. She can see the hand that touched her is in a tight fist by his side. She doesn't allow herself to ponder on what that might mean, nor does she linger on the thought that he seemingly kept up the act long after they were alone.

As she looks at herself in the mirror while taking off her makeup she wonders briefly how that lipstick shade might look when smeared on his lips. Splashing cold water on her face helps, marginally, to push the thought out of her mind long enough to finish getting ready. 

In the morning, she’s quite glad she’s the one who can see into other people’s minds and that the team can’t see into hers. Well, Natasha might be able to read her just as if she’d been in her head, so she makes sure she’s already gone when she finally leaves her room for coffee. Steve is nowhere in sight either, which she’s thankful for. 

Wanda doesn’t see him at all that day and it's good for her emotional turmoil so she doesn't question it. The following day is pretty much the same and she almost feels like herself again, but by the third day, just after dinner, she's stumped by the fact that she hasn’t seen Steve since their dinner date. And she doesn’t know what to do with the realization.

She turns to Pepper, both literally and figuratively since she’s sitting next to her reading the news, and clears her throat. She's under no impression that the hyper-busy CEO is particularly close to the captain, but she seems to have gotten to know him better through the wedding preparations. Plus, she’s always on top of everything.

“Did Steve say anything to you about the dinner the other night?” She asks, trying to keep her tone casual. She’s not sure she achieves this.

Pepper highlights a passage before laying the tablet down, obviously a way to demonstrate that all her attention is now on the girl, along with a polite smile. “Nothing after the fact. He came to me for restaurant recommendations, but that’s it. Why?”

It’s not accusatory, or sharp, which is why she made a point of not asking Natasha, the one person that could probably read between the lines easily enough to pick out the true underlying question— _did I do something wrong?_ Asking Natasha anything related to Steve will earn her an arched eyebrow and an interrogation.

Wanda shrugs and turns to her glass of iced tea. “Just wondering. I haven’t seen him since,” she explains, glancing back up. “It was a beautiful place, by the way. You have very good taste.” Not that that was ever in question.

Pepper seems pleased by this and hums, picking up the tablet but not turning it back on just yet. “I’m glad you liked it, I’ve got a whole list for you two to try out.” The thought turns her stomach into a knot, but she says nothing and stands with a faint smile. She wonders if they're places she wants to go to but has no chance to.

She decides to give Steve the benefit of the doubt for the rest of the day, only call him out on it if by dinner the next day they still haven’t crossed paths. Maybe she’s just being overdramatic; sure, _she’s_ not particularly busy outside of her workout regime when they’re not saving the world, but he’s the team leader, the face of the Avengers, surely he must have much more to do than she can imagine. That’s how she soothes herself. But all too soon it’s the fourth day and dinner is approaching and the most she’s seen of him is his side profile as he turns the corner ahead from her.

She waits for him outside his room, literally blocking his path by leaning against the closed door. He hesitates briefly when he realizes she’s there but his feet keep moving forward, toward her. 

“Wanda,” he greets her. Something in the detachment of his tone makes a stabbing pain flash through her ribcage. He stands before her and raises an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”

A few responses, some sharper than others, cross her mind. “I was just making sure my future husband was not dead in some corner of the building since I had not seen him in nearly a week.” 

Only a week stood between them and their wedding now, and her nights became exponentially more restless as the days passed. His lips curl into the ghost of a smile, though it’s accompanied by a faint frown as well.

“Thought maybe I should let you enjoy some time on your own now since we’ll be expected to be pretty much inseparable for a while after the wedding. Especially when we’re off on our honeymoon.” His response is measured and logical.

And she doesn’t trust it. Her expression must show that, because he looks at her for a moment, seemingly making up his mind about something. She can only tell he’s a little uneasy from the way his lips purse into a thin line for the briefest moments. He takes one quick glance around and then gives her a practiced smile. “What do you say we go to the mall tomorrow? I remember you mentioned you needed new jeans, right?”

She had, a passing comment—more of a complaint, really—when her favorite pair ripped when it caught with a sharp metal fence. Shopping in and of itself made her uneasy already, but the idea of going to the city on her own filled her with dread and so she had avoided the task.

Although she had been banned outright from reading or watching the news after the engagement, the previous coverage of her immigrant and enhanced status was enough to let her know that, to put it simply, she doesn’t belong. She tries not to think too long about the way her own reputation might be tarnishing Steve’s.

Steve, who’s looking at her expectantly, still waiting for an answer. She takes a deep breath and nods briskly, now her turn to give him a rehearsed smile. “Sure, what about after breakfast?”

“Alright.” He watches her for a minute and then she wonders if there’s something else he wants to tell her, but it’s not what she expects. “Can I go into my room now?” 

Her eyes widen as she scrambles to get out of the way, her face burning as she slams her own door behind her. 

# ———

Her breakfast is a small serving of scrambled eggs with whatever leftover vegetables Clint found in the recesses of the fridge and a large cup of coffee. She’s not worried about losing weight for the wedding, in fact, losing any after the last fitting is not such a good idea, but her stomach feels twisted even though she knows they’re going to have a good time. They always do, in the end. 

Steve is waiting for her when she’s done washing her dishes and, though she doesn’t exactly jump up, she’s still startled. She pushes away the feeling and walks with him out of the kitchen.

“We can take your bike today,” she says, having made a point of wearing pants that day. His steps slow for a moment as if literally taken aback by the idea, but his long strides close the gap in an instant. 

“If that’s what you want,” he agrees, heading for the garage. “You can take Nat’s helmet. Wouldn’t want to get pulled over,” he says, flashing her a smile, which she snorts at. 

“Do you even own a helmet? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use one,” she says, but does get Natasha’s shiny black helmet in her hands and walks up to the bike, where he somehow made a similar, but larger, helmet appear.

“As much as Nat says I’ve got a thick head, she still rags on me if I don’t wear one. Plus, it’ll be easier not to call attention to ourselves on the way.” That makes her next snarky comment dry upon her tongue.

“Makes sense,” she mumbles and gets the helmet on, which isn’t as heavy as she expected. With the visor up she notices Steve is already astride on the bike and offering a hand out to her. 

As always, it’s warm and rough and steady. And then she’s pressed flush against Steve’s solid back and her brain can hardly focus on anything else for long enough to get the visor down and give him an affirmative answer when he asks if she’s ready. Her hands and arms are tight around his torso, her knees a vice at each side of his hips. This is nothing like flying, the main difference being—in her mind at least—that she’s not in control now, a fact that has some alarms going off in her head even if she trusts Steve would never hurt her.

It’s a bit of a drive to the mall but not too terribly long, and she’s glad her legs don’t wobble when she steps down.

The mall is bustling with life and she wonders if school is out. Though she’s been looking into getting a GED or something, she’s not entirely in tune with the more mundane details of American life, like school vacations.

But the reason it’s important that there are a lot of people is that it means they have to keep up the act at all times, with little to no room for error. She doesn’t let herself think about it when she takes his hand, Steve looks down at her with an easy smile and takes the lead, weaving them through the crowd. It’s not suffocating, but sizable nonetheless and Wanda can already tell this is going to be exhausting on several levels.

“How do you wanna do this? Is there a store you had in mind?” If living surrounded by meticulous tacticians has taught her anything it’s to never go in without a plan. _Any_ plan is better than no plan. Which means that she has done her research beforehand, she’d checked out the closest mall, the stores in it and checked the prices of the items she was interested in on their websites. Of course, Natasha had some input, forbidding her from going to the cheapest options right out of the bat, telling her that it would just mean she would be back for a new pair in the blink of an eye.

Wanda came prepared for that question. They find the store she’d been looking for without a hitch and maybe it’s her lucky day, or people are heading off to the food court for an early lunch because it’s mostly empty when they walk in. 

Steve falls away into the background as she goes through the racks, which she doesn’t think is too suspicious when there’s not much of interest for him. Armed with a few options, she feels a slight pang of guilt seeing him on a comically undersized ottoman outside the changing rooms. 

“I know there’s an art supply store around here. Do you want to go there while I finish?” She offers. While she hadn’t personally seen such a place, she’d noted its existence while making her plan of attack.

He glances up and frowns, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about me. We’ll see what we do when you’re finished, there’s no rush.” It does little to reassure her but it’s not worth an argument, so she nods and locks herself into a small changing room.

Out of the five pairs of jeans she picked out three fit but she’s having a hard time justifying buying three pairs when she only _really_ needs one and she tends to favor skirts anyway. She’s still mulling over her options when there’s a knock on the door that startles her.

“Steve?”

“Uh, no, ma’am. I’m just checking to see if you need anything?” She wonders how long she’s been there if the woman is worried she’s shoplifting. Wanda picks up the ones that fit and opens the door with a smile. 

“No, I was just deciding. Thank you.”

Steve stands from where he’s sitting, putting his phone away and giving her a smile that makes her heart do flips in her chest. Absolutely unfair. 

“Natasha told me never to ask how it went when a woman tries on clothes, so, are you ready?” He asks, closing the distance between them as if the sales clerk isn’t right there, or maybe _because_ she’s there.

Wanda smiles a little and makes her way out of the dressing room area, trying to spot the checkout. “Yes, I’m ready. These three fit but I might only get two. Honestly, I really only need one, buying two already feels like too much.”

Steve’s hand moves to reach out to hers, wrapping gently around her wrist. It makes her stop walking to look up at his face, currently adorned by a frown. “Why?” His voice is soft. She thinks she already knows the answer.

“I don't really need so many and— I don’t know. Why spend extra?” His face softens slightly.

“Because you deserve good things, Wanda. You deserve to buy things you want, not just what you _need_.” There’s a lump in her throat blocking all her words, so she just glares weakly for a moment and then sighs, pulling her hand away to keep walking to the checkout, with his footsteps not far behind.

As she answers the cashiers’ questions about whether she found all she needed she slowly pushes the third pair onto the pile, jumping slightly when Steve, now appearing by her side, presses his lips to the top of her head. It’s unexpected, but not unwelcome. As she pays, her free hand slips into his, and they smile at each other. 

Her hand is still in his as they walk out of the store, the one not in his holding the crinkling bag with her purchase, though he offered to hold it for her. 

“Sam says we gotta get some ice cream at one of the shops here, claims it's the best he's had. All kinds of flavors,” he says, making sure they stay out of the way of the moving groups. 

Wanda can feel her interest piqued. “Oh, we _have_ to?” She teases but keeps smiling, slowly growing more excited. “Do you think they have coffee ice cream?” She asks, beaming up at him and he smiles at her eagerness. 

“I’d bet they do. And if they don’t, we’ll find someone who does. I’ve never tried it myself, though.”

Her horrified expression seems to amuse him as they walk in the direction of the food court. They do, indeed, have coffee ice cream which she makes him take a tasting spoon of. Steve promptly decides it’s not for him and goes with two scoops of cheesecake ice cream, which she deems too sweet to have so much of.

As she waits for her scoop to be served in a wafer cone, she can feel the hair in the back of her neck stand on end. She turns slightly to the side, peeking behind her through the brown curtain of her hair. There she can see a group of teenage girls gawking at them. Well, they’re probably gawking at Steve and not her. 

Turning back around to take her frozen treat she suddenly feels as if she’s lost her sweet tooth. Steve pays for them _(”I’m treating my fiancée.”)_ and then his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her close.

Of course, he’d already spotted them. Her cheeks feel a little warm as they move out of the way of the line. “Let’s walk around, yeah?”

She nods, thankful for his understanding. Her head is beginning to hurt from the crowd, something she hasn’t been able to discern whether it’s from anxiety or some strange side effect of her powers. She stays quiet as they walk, her head kept down for the most part. 

“What’s on your mind?” His voice is quiet and closer than she expected, sending a shiver down her spine.

She glances up at him and shrugs, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling. “Nothing.”

“Come on, what kinda fella would I be if I couldn’t tell when my girl’s in a mood?” Her smile returns somewhat at the wording he uses, certain he’s doing it with that intention in mind. “You can talk to me,” he says then, much softer.

Wanda keeps her own looking forward, making a point of it. “I just feel—” Her eyes widen slightly as they lock on the store that’s coming up around the corner. “Look, it’s the art supply store. Do you want to go in?”

The look on his face tells her she’s not as smooth as she thinks she is, but he lets it go in favor of squeezing her tight to him and chuckling. “Honey, if I go into a place like that and I might as well go back in the ice for another seventy years. I’ll disappear in there,” he jokes with an uncomfortable chuckle. But his feet slow down as they come up to it.

“Go in, meanwhile I can finish my ice cream, yes? I promise I’ll come and get you in fifty years.”

Steve gives her an unamused look even as she dislodges herself from his arm and makes a show of pushing him to the store’s entrance.

“Are you sure? I promise I won’t be too long,” he says, hanging around long enough for her to chuckle and shoo him off. There’s a bench a little off the way from the store, it’s cold metal and possibly uncomfortable to sit on for fifty years, but she still sits cross-legged on it with her bag on her lap to finish her ice cream, whipping out her phone to pass the time. 

She’s nibbling on the remnants of her cone when a feeling of unease overtakes her even before she’s in the shadow of a group of young men that have decided to invade her personal space. Her heart skips a beat as she looks up. Two of them stay half a pace back while the obvious little ring leader is all up in her face. She wants to ask what’s the matter, but the shit-eating grin on their faces has made her voice disappear.

“Ain’t it time you got kicked outta here?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” She chokes out, taken aback by his tone—and the implication.

“Yeah, you've had your fun corrupting an American hero, I think you should leave now.” Her nostrils flare and she has the foresight to put her cone on a napkin before she smashes it to pieces in her hand.

One of the boys at the sides seems to gather enough valor to spit out his bullshit as well. “You should go back to your country. Oh wait, you can’t!” He nudges the other boys while laughing disproportionately at his shitty joke. Tears well instantly in her eyes, anger and grief sending them spilling over. She manages to spit out a _fuck off_ between gritted teeth, but they already seem over her, laughing to themselves. One, and she can’t figure out which one, spits in her general direction, but a quick flick of her wrist deflects it just enough not to land on her before she covers her face with her hands. 

She feels like she's burning and she can hardly see through her tears when Steve finally appears through the doors, holding a small bag by his side. “Hey, thought I’d come out before you had to send a search—” His voice trails off when he sees her and she sniffles, trying to wipe off her cheeks angrily. “Wanda, what’s wrong?” He drops the bag on the bench so he can move both hands to her cheeks as he kneels in front of her, though she pulls her head back with a huff.

“It’s nothing, Steve. I want to go home, I just—” Her eyes dart off, just for a moment, behind Steve’s shoulder where the three boys are standing, clearly enjoying the pitiful show.

It takes that split second for Steve to notice, to turn halfway and spot them. She doesn’t think she’s seen him this angry before, doesn’t think she's ever seen that look flash across his face. He stands in an instant, turning on the spot and it’s then that she remembers he’s 6-foot-2 of pure muscle. And she’s not the only one intimidated by his height, all three boys seem to shrink as soon as he takes a step towards them.

“Having fun? You think it’s fun to make a woman cry?” His voice booms, calls attention to him. If they’d been mostly unnoticed up to that point, everyone was watching them now. Wanda curls into herself as she watches on.

Those kids have a deathwish, is her only explanation when they don’t completely stand down. “She’s got no right to be here!” Her heart aches a little, not because she ever believed in the American dream, but because she’d been right about what people thought of her and her ice cream threatens to make an unwelcome reappearance. Steve is towering over the boys now, having closed the distance already, a stormy look on his face. At that moment, she knows he’d keep all his promises to her.

She also wonders, briefly, what kind of power trip the boy is riding to stand up to Captain America. “You’re really gonna marry her? A freaking immigrant mutt? What, is it for show?”

Steve looks positively incensed. “That _immigrant_ is going to be my wife because I love her and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. There’s nothing wrong with immigrants, _my parents_ were immigrants. You know what’s your problem? You think you own this country, right? That’s what you’ve been told, isn’t it? Well, guess what, you _don’t._ You don’t own it and you never did.” The place seems eerily quiet, the bustle of people moving that have suddenly all come to a stop. 

The look on his face, the tautness of his body, his hands balled into fists— Wanda’s on her feet and walking over to him before he does something stupid like punching a kid in front of a good dozen cellphone cameras. 

She grabs his wrist and pulls. She doesn’t flatter herself thinking she could ever physically stop him, and she has her reservations about using her powers in public and with her friends unless there’s an emergency, so she’s infinitely relieved when he seems to stand down and take a deep breath, turning back to look at her.

His expression softens and, though his lips are still pursed, his eyes are looking into hers so intensely that she can only hope he can read how she’s silently begging for him to step down before things escalate. 

She’s sure this isn’t what Pepper had in mind when she said they needed some more public appearances before the wedding.

“Take me home,” she says, keeping her voice somewhere between a demand and a plea. After a beat, he nods and brings his hand up to her cheek, wiping the last of the wetness off her skin before walking back to the bench where their items lay forgotten. He takes all of the bags in one hand, tosses her trash into a nearby bin and then grabs her hand. She wonders if he’s taking it as some sort of deterrent, keeping both busy so he’s not tempted to go back.

Her heart is still beating incredibly hard in her chest, feels as if it’s going to leap out of her throat, and their words are doing rounds around her head, leaving her dizzy. As they come up to the bike she leans against a pillar, letting go of his hand so he can put away their bags. She doesn’t notice when it started, but the air is having a hard time reaching her lungs even as she braces herself on her knees.

Steve leaves the helmets on the seat and rushes to the side, crouching to be at eye level with her. “Hey, look at me, they’re gone,” he whispers, his hands moving awkwardly, as if unsure if he should touch her. “They’re gone, they’re not going to hurt you.”

Wanda can’t help the slightly deranged-sounding laugh that comes out of her at his words. How could he think she was worried about herself? She shakes her head, wiping away stubborn tears that keep appearing. “I can’t let you do this,” she manages to choke out, meeting his eyes. 

His frown only deepens, his hands finally settling on the back of her knees, thumbs caressing up and down in an effort to soothe her. “What do you mean?”

Forcing herself to take a deep breath, and pointedly looking away from him, she lets out a sigh. “You can’t marry me. I can’t let you ruin your reputation.” Her voice breaks on the last word and she shudders, hiding her face in her hands. She doesn’t want to see the relief in his eyes. They stay quiet for a minute, though she’s only managing because she’s holding her breath for most of it.

“Wanda, look at me,” he says. It’s certainly an order, just not the kind he uses when training, or in the field. It feels different, which she guesses is why she finds it easier to ignore, shaking her head behind the covering of her hands. She hears him sigh and then his hands are gone from her legs, which makes her heart break a little. “Wanda...” Again with that stern tone. Her body shudders, then he’s physically removing her hands, pulling them down and holding them by her wrists in one hand, held against her lap, as the other reaches up to hold her chin steady so she can’t escape his eyes. “I told you I was going to keep you safe. I _promised_ that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Now, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when those idiots decided to show up, but I’m not going to let you jeopardize your… jeopardize _this,_ because you’re worried about my reputation. You’re infinitely more important than that.”

His gaze is so heavy she feels like she’s choking, and his eyes are blue enough to drown in. She doesn’t think she would mind dying that way. He’s still looking at her sternly, seemingly waiting for some sort of response from her part so she swallows past the lump in her throat and hums something that might come off as an acknowledgment. “Can you please take me home?” She whispers, and this time it absolutely is a plea.

He nods and stands swiftly, handing her the helmet. “As you wish.”

The trip seems to be much shorter this time around, but maybe he’s just so lost in her head she doesn’t notice the time passing. As soon as they arrive she trades the helmet for her shopping bag and then hurries back to her bedroom, making sure the door is closed. She can’t bear the thought of ruining Steve’s life for her sake, so she hides under her covers like a child, still dressed, and falls asleep in an effort to forget the world.

# ———

They’re lying on some sunny beach, their honeymoon destination, and she’s on her stomach soaking up sunlight. Steve is lying half propped up by her side, looking at her with the adoring eyes he gives her when they’re in public, though she can’t see anyone around them.

Most notable, she can feel his hand—large, warm, rough—tracing patterns across the expanse of exposed skin provided by her bikini. Her lips curl into a smile as she turns to lay on her side to look at him more comfortably. “What is in your mind?” She hums, biting down on her lip in an effort to smother the sudden urge to trace her hand along his defined chest. Her fingers curl around the warm sand instead as she turns to lay on her side.

“Just thinking about how much I love you,” his voice is so low, so quiet, she’s certain he’s saying it only for her, and it makes her stomach flip.

“Steve?”

“You’re the love of my life,” he says, and before she can argue he’s leaning in to kiss her.

Right before their lips meet she wakes with a start, sitting upright on her bed. Her head hurts, and sleeping with jeans and shoes on wasn’t her most brilliant decision. 

It’s still light out, though her room has been kept dark by FRIDAY. As she comes back to herself she realizes she woke up not because her mind was overwhelmed by the idea of kissing Steve, but because there was someone knocking at her door. 

“Wanda?”

Well, it’s not Steve, which is a small relief, but Clint surely isn’t there to review her taste in jeans. 

“Come in,” she calls out, kicking her feet off the bed to take off her shoes as the archer walks in. “Hey,” she hums, rubbing a hand over her face to try and get rid of the sleep clinging to her features. Clint gives her a look and chuckles, shooing her so he can sit on the bed with her and pull off one of her shoe when she gives up on trying to toe it off once the other is gone. “Are you here to tell me we’re on the news? Because I could guess that one about a minute after it happened.” 

He lets out a snort and shakes his head. “No. I mean, you’re definitely on the news, but that ain’t why I’m here.”

She frowns at that, tilting her head to look at him. “Then what is it? Did Steve change his mind?” Her throat feels uncomfortably dry, fear clear enough on her expression for Clint to make a face.

“I just wanted to check in on you, kid.” Her shoulders drop at once and she sighs.

“They didn’t hurt me,” she offers, looking down at her feet, frowning as if her socks were to blame for everything. 

“Yeah, pretty sure if they had you wouldn’t have taken it. And Steve would’ve definitely have punched someone. But,” he pauses for a short moment, waiting for her to look up again, “He wouldn’t have given that little speech unprompted. I wanna make sure you know they’re idiots and that everything Steve said is right. They don’t own this place and you do deserve to be here.”

She can feel her eyes burn—can she get through the rest of the day _without_ crying?— and she nods, clearing her throat, but her head is working overtime now that she’s awake, she can’t stop thinking maybe this was a bad idea.

“What is it?” He asks, and her lips curl into a little smile. 

“I thought it was Natasha that read people,” she points out, and Clint gives her a soft laugh.

“So many years by her side, something oughta have rubbed off on me, don’t you think?”

“I guess that’s fair.”

“You know what else I picked up from her? When someone is changing the subject.” His shoulder bumps against hers and she lets the momentum topple her over so she’s lying awkwardly on the pillows. “You can’t nap your way out of this one, sweetheart. Come on, talk to me.” He stands up then, right at the side of the bed, reaching for her hands to pull her up. Once she’s sitting again he lets her go and leans back against the dresser, arms crossed loosely over his chest as he waits her out. 

Out of her and Pietro, she had always been the most patient of the two, but she couldn’t even dream of winning against Clint. 

She makes a point of not meeting his eyes but still speaks up. It’s the most she can give him. “I’m not— I really don’t think my papers are so important that he should ruin his reputation,” she says, frowning slightly.

“Steve knew what he was signing up for when he volunteered,” he says, and she can’t help but glance up at that, though she stays quiet. “The only people he’s really pissing off are all Republicans and Conservatives, pretty sure outrage is their default.” He smiles to himself, some personal joke she doesn’t understand, and then meets her eyes with a softer smile. “Plus, if you two were getting married because you, y’know, were actually in love,” he makes a face as he says this, earning him a nervous laugh from her, “Would it really matter what people said about you two?”

She thinks about it for a minute and then shakes her head, but her lips are pursed. “I guess not.”

“Just try not to lose sleep over it. It’ll do no one no good.” He walks over and messes up her hair much to her dismay, and then leaves her in the quiet of her room. 

She stays there for the rest of the day, bypassing dinner in favor of going to bed early after a quick shower. They’ll be busy from the morning with her bachelorette party, so at least she’ll have an excuse not to talk to Steve at all for a good chunk of the day, and hopefully at night he’ll be too busy with his own celebrations that she’ll have a day of respite before the rehearsal. Burying her worries about the upcoming days, she wills herself to sleep.

Her bachelorette party-slash-spa day _is_ relaxing, she finds, once she gets over the feeling that she doesn’t deserve anything even half as nice as this. Pepper truly knows all the best places, and it turns out a full body massage was most needed. Once she’s done, she notes she was carrying tension she didn’t even know existed in the first place, and her skin feels clean and bright. At least she’ll look good in the pictures. 

As they leave the pristine and, frankly, soothing building, she can’t help but frown when there are two cars waiting. Pepper waves at them as she gets in one, all smiles even as she argues on the phone with someone, meanwhile Natasha gets her into the other car with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“What is going on?” She asks, but it’s Natasha, so she never really expected a truthful answer.

 _“I have a surprise for you.”_ Is all she can hope for as they leave the parking lot. It’s a little unnerving to sit alone in a car with Natasha, but she’s fairly certain that they won’t end up at a strip club, so her worries aren’t taking over her mind as streets and buildings zip by. 

She just melts into the comfortable seat, nearly dozing off until a store sign catches her eye, though it flashes by too fast for her to be sure of what she saw, not until the car rolls to a stop in front of a bakery with Cyrillic signs on its windows. As do all the surrounding stores. 

Natasha takes one look at her surprised expression and smiles in a way she has seldom seen. It’s sweet, but gone too fast as she climbs out of the car and Wanda hurries to follow. 

The sweet smell of freshly baked bread all but sings her name and, with a quick glance to make sure Natasha is heading the same way, she walks into the small bakery. 

A few tables line up each side, undoubtedly for patrons to enjoy a coffee and the baked goods. Her heart is beating fast in her chest, though for once it’s from excitement, as she rushes up to the counter with its display, her senses flooded with memories of home. She feels like a little girl again, going to the bakery on the corner with her mother.

“Tanya? We’re here,” Natasha calls out in Russian, and she realizes it’s the first time that she’s heard her use the language in front of her. 

An old woman with a head of white hair pulled into a braid walks out to greet them with a smile. “Natasha, I was wondering where you were.” She steps around the counter while wiping her hands on a cloth before setting it aside to greet Natasha with a hug. “Hello, dear. How have you been?”

“I’m very well, Tanya. I brought someone along this time. This is Wanda,” she says as she turns to the girl still standing by the fresh bread, from where she waves awkwardly. 

“Hello, I’m Tatiana, you can call me Tanya,” the woman says in English, extending a hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Tanya,” she responds in Russian, much to her delight. Natasha smiles a little and wanders off to pick up a pastry. “Is this your bakery?” 

“Yes, yes. Mine and my husband’s, but he’s not here. Went for groceries.”

“It all looks and _smells_ amazing,” Wanda says, grinning as she turns back. “I’m going to take some home.”

By the time she has a tray and Tanya is back behind the counter Natasha is already drinking a coffee and dipping sushki in it. 

“What? I practically work here,” she defends when Wanda gives her a look. Tanya produces another cup and a plate of the little cookies, offering them to Wanda. 

“You can enjoy these while you make up your mind about what to take home. And in the meantime, I’ll go take out the baklava from the oven.”

Wanda’s eyes light up at the mention of the dessert, an excited tinge to her voice. “Baklava? That’s Pietro’s—” Her heart stops for a moment, and even as she fights not to let her entire expression crumble her smile falls away almost completely. “That was my brother’s favorite,” she finishes, a bitter taste in her mouth and Tanya gives a tight, compassionate smile before fully disappearing into the back.

Her heart feels heavy with guilt and grief and the sushki she puts in her mouth tastes like nothing but ash by no fault but her own, and the coffee is bitter as she chugs it. Natasha sighs and stands from the small table, heading to the counter and picking up a tray and tongs to pile up sweet treats.

“These are Clint’s favorite,” she says, taking a pre-cut slice of what seems to be ptichye moloko. “He doesn’t like that it’s called bird’s milk, but he got over it.” The tray slowly but surely gets packed until it’s nearly overflowing. “What do you think Steve will like?” She asks, gesturing to the vast options, and it gives her pause.

She doesn’t know what her fiance likes to eat. She’s never thought to ask, he’s always eating, and so much, she’s just assumed he likes everything, but no one really likes _everything_.

Tanya comes back and clasps her hands together with a pleased smile at the sight. 

“Ah, Natasha is always my favorite customer, she buys out the entire place every time. What about you, dear?” 

“Well, I’m definitely going to take some baklava once it’s cooled down. I can’t decide what to get my fiance, though.” The word feels extraordinarily heavy, and it’s probably the first time she’s called him that out loud. Tanya grins and leans a little closer, seemingly thrilled for this stranger that has just walked into her shop.

“What does he like?” Of course, she would ask.

“He’s a little old fashioned,” she tries, which promptly earns her a snort from Natasha.

“My husband loves his vatrushka, we get the cheese at the farmer’s market, you know. But if he’s American I’m sure some ponchiki won't lead you astray. A filled donut never hurt anybody. Or babka! Natasha is _very_ fond of our chocolate babka. Ate a whole loaf in one day once,” she says with a conspiratorial wink.

“That is not true, it was Clint. I only had one or two slices,” the accused defends around a mouthful of cookies, though it sounds halfhearted. 

Wanda clears her throat and puts on a tight smile. “I’ll take one of each of those, he eats a lot. I’m sure nothing will be wasted.” Her answer satisfies the elderly woman as she bags up the treats. 

“Now, dear, go finish your coffee while the baklava cools down, in the meantime, why don’t you tell me about this fiance of yours, hm?” Wanda more than welcomes the distraction and time seems to pass at a normal pace instead of dragging on as she feared. 

The cups are empty and the pastry more than cooled off when the three finally get up from the table. Natasha pays (early wedding present) and they’re on their way, waving at Tanya as they get into the car. 

When they get to the compound, Natasha doesn’t have to say anything but the glint in her eyes tells Wanda that Clint must be eagerly anticipating their return. It manages to make her smile. 

Steve leaves his room unlocked 95% of the time, always insisting that he’s there for them _always._ He’s not actually in his room now, which she’s thankful for. All she wants to do is leave the brown paper bag on his bedside table and walk right back out. She lets out a breath of relief when she closes the door behind her with no witnesses. 

Her body feels extraordinarily smooth and relaxed in ways she can’t remember ever feeling, and the compound is quiet and her bed so inviting she can’t turn down its siren song. Plus, what else is she meant to do two days before her wedding? She’s in no mood for a workout—who wants to be sore on such a big day?— So she takes off her shoes and curls up under the covers, falling asleep effortlessly. 

Her dreams are much less peaceful, but this one doesn’t start so badly. Pietro is there, smiling at her as he always did. It feels just like the old days when it was just them against the world. 

And then the sun fades, warm summer becomes dreary winter, and Pietro’s smile is bloody as he opens his mouth to speak. He crumples to the floor as bright red blooms onto his pristine white shirt and, though she falls to her knees in an instant, there’s nothing her hands can do against the bleeding. When she looks up to meet his eyes she can see his mouth is moving, his lips forming the shape of her name but all she can hear is a droning sound and the sound of her own voice calling his name desperately. She blinks and he’s gone, all that’s left of him is the blood on her hands. 

Wanda wakes with a start, a sob choking her as it gets stuck in her throat when she pushes herself up to sit. It’s not a new dream but the horror is never lessened. 

Her phone says it’s nearing midnight, and she can hear Natasha scolding her for ruining her sleep schedule, but she doesn’t plan on staying up much longer.

She pretends her hands don’t tremble as she changes into pajamas. The flannel pants are soft and warm, somehow they feel safe. Her day clothes go into the hamper and then she just wants to get back in bed, guiding herself off memory since her sight is blurry. She wipes the tears away and looks at the pastry still sitting in the brown bag on her night table, so unassuming. And then she can’t help it. 

The tears spill over freely as she falls to her knees before she can make it onto the bed, her hands grasping the covers and pulling them halfway off. All she can think of is the unfairness of it all. She can’t believe she’s never going to see her brother again, can’t believe this how her life is going to be from now on, always missing a crucial piece of her.

Her mind can’t wrap around such unfathomable loss, so when two hands hold her, help straighten her, for a moment she thinks maybe it was all a prolonged bad dream. 

“Pietro?” Even as she says the words, reality sinks in. She’s in New York, in a room that is all for her at the Avengers compound and when she looks up it’s Steve that’s holding her.

His expression is pained, though she knows it’s not because she got his name wrong. A new wave of sobs wracks her chest, her lungs begging for a little more air that she doesn’t think she can provide. 

“Hey, hey. You’re okay,” he whispers, holding her closer to his chest. “You’re okay.” He must already know she had a bad dream, even if that’s not all there is to it. She whimpers and shakes her head, trying to hide her face in her hands. “What’s that?” He hums, not relinquishing his hold, it’s then she realizes she’s talking, or trying to. “What’s not fair?”

When she tries to answer, only a sob comes out. He waits patiently until she tires herself out and the tears stop flowing. And she really is exhausted, sitting limply against his chest, still on the floor. “I’m sorry," she whispers, rubbing at her tacky cheeks. 

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.” It’s his standard response, so it doesn't reassure her much. Her eyes get lost in the carpet as she shakes her head, but says nothing. Even if she feels argumentative she’s too strung out to act on it. “Do you want me to go?”

Somehow, the way he says it makes her chest tighten. She shakes her head again. “Stay.” Her voice is hoarse and faint but she’s sure of what she wants. 

“Alright, I’ll stay. But we can’t stay on the floor any longer.”

“I'm fine—”

“I’m sure you are, doll, but I’m an old man,” he says with a slightly teasing tone that only partly hides the concern behind it. He disentangles his arms from around her and crouches, his hands ghosting around her waist, waiting for her. When she doesn't move he holds her and lifts her onto the bed. By the time she considers protesting he’s already let her go. So she lays back against the pillows and watches him. 

It’s not the first time he’s been in her room but this time feels different, though she can’t quite narrow down why. He hovers awkwardly by the side of the bed, his hair looking almost white in the moonlight.

“You said you would stay,” she reminds him and a soft smile spreads on his lips.

“I’m not trying to escape,” he tells her, but the tone is unsure. She reaches out to the empty side of the bed and meets his eyes. 

“Sit, then.” As far as orders go, she’s certain he’s followed worse.

He pauses for a moment and then gives in, walking around the bed so he can sit next to her. His movements are stiff, lacking his characteristic agility. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks after a few minutes and she shakes her head. She’s embarrassed herself plenty already, but she does turn around to lay on her side so she can see him. 

“Why are you awake?” His smile returns. She likes it.

“Had my bachelor party, the guys took me out,” he explains, getting a little more comfortable on the bed, making sure he keeps his shoes off of it. 

“Yes? What did you do?” She asks, happy for the distraction as she tucks her hands under her head. 

“Played pool and drank beer, I’m really surprised by the restraint they showed.”

Her lips curl up into a smirk. “No strippers?”

He chuckles and shakes his head vehemently. “Vetoed that one right out of the gate, I promise.”

“You didn’t have to. We’re not—”

“It’s fine, really. Can’t imagine Pepper or Nat would’ve liked it either. Not that I think I’m missing out on anything. Might’ve just reminded me of the USO shows.”

Her brow furrows, and she turns her body just a little more. “The what?”

“No one’s told you about that? God…” He hides his face behind a hand and sighs, his slight theatrics appreciated. “After the serum but before I was fighting, I used to do tours to raise bonds, funds for the war,” he explains, but she still doesn’t get it. 

“Tour of what?” His nose scrunches up. 

“Mainly musical numbers.”

“You are kidding. Musical numbers as in dancing? Did you sing?”

A real bout of laughter comes from him, though he muffles it quickly on account of the late hour. “The girls did most of that. I just recited facts, lifted heavy things and punched Hitler. A lot. Very theatrical.”

Her eyebrows go up as her lips curl up into a wider smirk. “Is there anywhere I can watch some of this?” She can’t imagine Steve on a stage, giving orders at the height of battle sure, but doing _a_ _musical number?_ It sounds unreal. 

“I’m not sure, but I think you can look up the costume if you can call it that. Glorified tights.”

“You wore _tights?”_ She wants to laugh but the sound won’t come out, she settles for a brighter smile at the mental image. 

“Oh yeah, with shorts. It was certainly something. I’ll show you someday.”

“I’d like that.” Her eyes feel heavy, her body too, but she doesn’t want to fall asleep. She doesn’t want to be alone in the dark again. “Keep talking to me, please.”

Steve turns to face her completely and gives her a soft smile, seemingly pausing to collect his thoughts before speaking. “I help one of the dancers. She lives in Jersey, has a little farm. Usually has her grandsons for the summer, so I help whenever they’re busy at school or something.”

She hums to show she’s listening even though her eyes are closed. The bed shifts as he settles down on the pillows, lying by her side, and continues. ”Last year during winter she brought in a cat. Orange, real scrawny. Last time I called she said she was having kittens soon. Marge is gonna be overrun with them before she knows it, but it’ll keep her happy, distracted. I think she’s been lonely since Robert died. That's her husband.”

Steve turns to her again and he can tell she’s falling asleep by the way she’s breathing. She’s half laying on top of the sheets, but he manages to pull the blankets out to cover her up. He’ll stay for a little while longer, just to make sure she’s alright. That’s what he’s still telling himself when he falls asleep too. 

His eyes open at once along with the bedroom door. 

Wanda’s bedroom door. 

Said owner of the room groans and hides her head under the pillow, seemingly unaware that he’s still very much in the bed. Natasha lets out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh and points at the doorway. “Get out before Clint sees and tries to kill you.”

He’s more than happy to oblige, his muscles protesting from the curled-up tight position he had adopted for the night. And, though he didn’t do anything _wrong_ , he can’t help but bow his head in a pathetic effort to hide the blush creeping up his neck. 

A run is the only thing in mind as he slips into his own room.

Wanda doesn’t resurface until the door closes again, though she doesn’t lie to herself. She knows Natasha is still there. “I thought I had a free day until we leave for rehearsal,” she accuses as she sits, pulling her hair back and out of her hair, hoping Steve didn’t see the streak of drool on her cheek. 

“You do, but when I couldn’t find Steve running, or at the gym, or his bed… Thought I’d make sure he hadn’t gotten cold feet.” Natasha’s face is impassive for the most part, but the ghost of a smirk betrays the fact that she wasn’t saying everything in her mind. Wanda’s certain it was a conscious slip of her facade. 

She doesn’t know what the redhead wants but it must be _something_ , because she’s still there, watching.

“Am I missing something?” She asks, giving in. She’s not going to read her mind over this.

Natasha pauses for a moment, though Wanda has never known her to falter. “What do you say about one last dance lesson? Before the rehearsal. You’ll be in a dress, you can wear tomorrow’s shoes and break them in a little more. I think it might be a good idea.”

Though her opinion had been asked, she doesn't think she’s supposed to say no. “Okay. Clint again?” She sits on the edge of the bed and stretches, glad to note her body still feels loose from the wonderful massage. 

“Yes, I’m giving Steve one last chance not to step on me before I trust him anywhere near white fabric.” A pause, and Natasha smiles. “Kidding. He’s surprisingly good. You and Clint can take the gym after lunch, and we’ll go in after.”

Natasha is out the door in the blink of an eye, leaving Wanda to shower and dress for breakfast. She likes the routine, she likes the simplicity and the predictability of their mornings—world threats notwithstanding. Clint and Natasha make coffee for each other, people don’t attempt deep conversation before the second pot has been brewed, everyone has _their_ mug. While each personality is vastly different, they seem to mesh well enough on most days. Bad days, well, they’re a whole other beast. 

Wanda had a lot of those in the beginning. 

She stirs sugar into her coffee while Sam makes scrambled eggs and toast. Out of everyone, she finds she likes his food the best, no doubt on account of the spices he uses. Rhodey hums his good morning as he takes a water bottle from the fridge. Just as in the field, everyone moves fluidly around each other.

Wanda lets herself enjoy the calmness, knowing it’s the last ‘normal’ morning she’s going to have for a little while. The next morning will be hectic with the whole ‘it’s your wedding day’ thing, and, after that, the honeymoon.

When she heads for the small gym with hardwood floor they’ve been using for their dance lessons, Clint is already there, dressed in unusual slacks and a button-up, making her feel a little calmer about the fact that she’s already wearing the pale green dress she’ll be wearing to the rehearsal. And his smile is as reassuring as ever.

She puts on the shoes while he asks FRIDAY to play the song over the speakers. Her hand in his and the other on his shoulder and then they’re moving side to side in a slow circle. She’s definitely glad that Natasha made her break in the heels from the day they got them. While nothing extraordinarily tall, she knows the stiffness would have made dancing impossible, at least in any fluid way. 

“So, got cold feet yet?” Clint asks her after a small twirl and her brow furrows. Natasha used the same words. 

“My feet aren’t cold,” she says, tilting her head to the side in confusion. It must be clear on her face because he chuckles. 

“It’s an expression. Means you’re having second thoughts.”

“Oh... No, no. Of course not. I want to stay, I’ll do anything.”

He seems amused by her answer but says nothing and only nods. As the song starts up again she moves a little closer, Clint’s arm shifting as well while she hums the lyrics to herself. 

“This song is pretty,” she says as they finish the last minute of the song. She expects Clint to reply, but it’s Natasha’s voice that answers from behind her.

“Yeah, it’s alright. I wanted _You Make Me Feel So Young_ but Steve vetoed it, no idea why.”

Wanda chuckles through another spin, meeting Steve’s eyes for a moment. The smile she gets makes her heart skip a beat. 

The song ends and Clint lets go of her hand with a flourish. At the same time, the shoes come off, instantly. Steve and Natasha trade places with them at the center of the room but she doesn’t stay long enough to watch, the embarrassment from the night before still vivid in her mind. 

Later, Wanda’s impressed when everyone is neatly packed into town cars at four on the dot, which wouldn’t have been possible without Pepper.

The drive goes by fast enough, it’s not until they arrive at the venue that her stomach drops, for various reasons. It looks gorgeous; a local VA center with a spacious garden that has been overtaken with a large tent and a wooden platform for the reception area, while one of the rooms inside has been decorated and fitted for the ceremony. 

Somewhere behind her, Sam whistles. If she remembers correctly, this is where Sam mentioned meeting a few support groups during the week. Steve has mentioned meeting a couple of veterans as well. She wonders if they’ve been invited. 

After a small tour of the place, Pepper herds them into the room, right on schedule, to greet the officiant. When she looks to her side, Steve is there with that smile that makes her melt. 

“Ready?” Before she can even nod, their unofficial wedding organizer walks up to them to explain the order they will carry out the rehearsal, and seems to trust them to get to their places. Steve takes her hand as they make their way up to the chuppah. 

The officiant goes through the major points of the ceremony rather quickly, or maybe that’s just how it feels for her, but she tries to pay attention when they’re told the order to walk out. Her hand is in Steve’s without her noticing it’s happening, though she couldn’t tell if it was her doing or his. 

And then she realizes people are speaking, specifically to her. Well, her and Steve. 

“Once the couple kisses, the maid of honor will hand back the bouquet and the couple exits, followed by the party. Luckily, this one is quite small, shouldn’t take too long.”

Steve’s fingers shift, and she makes a point of relaxing her hold on him, but he’s still looking at her with a worried look.

“What is it?” He whispers, but she can’t tell him because she doesn’t really know what’s wrong.

“Nothing.”

“Cold feet,” he teases, and she lets out a chuckle as she relaxes her hold. Pepper motions for them to walk down, and they do.

She’s thankful for Steve’s reassuring touch as they walk out to the hallway and wait for the rest. 

“About… About last night,” she starts, looking down at her feet. 

“You don’t have to say anything. I did want to say thank you, though. Whatever those pastries were, they were delicious. You’ll have to take me there sometimes.”

Sam and Natasha walk out arm in arm, laughing about something, and then Steve has to go back to the altar, followed by Sam and then Natasha. And then it’s her turn again. If her heart is beating so hard at the rehearsal she doesn’t want to even think about how she’ll fare when it’s for real.

The music plays overhead, Clint takes her hand and they walk down. And then it’s the whole thing all over again, up until the officiant says they may kiss and Pepper and Sam are making faces at her that she can only read as ‘kiss him, idiot’. No doubt Natasha is doing the same for Steve if the color of his cheeks is any indication. 

Her not-fake-fake fiance meets her eyes and she nods once, barely, as she leans in. It’s hardly a kiss, it reminds her of her first kiss, actually, chaste and quick. They pull back and turn to the aisle to walk out. 

Her stomach is filled with butterflies as they wait for whatever it is Pepper is sorting out inside, who then insists that they ride together to the restaurant where they’ll be having their rehearsal dinner. As they sit in the car she can’t help but go over the pitiful excuse for a kiss they had just shared. Somehow the fact that they would have to kiss had completely slipped from her mind, lost somewhere in all the preparations. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sam nudge him with an elbow as the engine starts but he doesn’t seem to notice, or even care. His eyes are burning holes in her skin. He won’t turn away and she feels like she’s suffocating under his gaze, and she’s never been more thankful to be in the city since it means that drive shouldn’t be too long.

In effect, they arrive within fifteen minutes to a semi-fancy restaurant. She wouldn’t have lasted much longer, she thinks, as she all but jumps out of the car to meet up with Clint, who easily puts an arm around her on their way in, where they all get shown to a private room.

Stark is already there with Rhodey and Maria Hill, who both come up to hug her and then Steve, a few paces behind. She wonders if Maria knows, but she’s not about to ask out loud.

Naturally, Steve and she are seated together, at the center of the table, where the photographer makes certain the light is just right, and since the menu has been pre-arranged all they have to do is wait for the meal to be ready. And what better way to kill time than with toasts? At least that’s what Sam says the second he gets a glass of wine. Wanda leans over to Steve with a smirk, though she can’t quite meet his eyes just yet.

“I’m going to need to swap our glasses to get through this,” she whispers, which earns her a small snort of laughter from him.

“I’m so jealous of you right now. Go ahead, just try not to go too fast,” he warns, nudging his glass closer to her with his knuckles. “Can’t have my bride be hungover.”

She laughs this time as he easily switches their glasses when people are distracted. This is probably the fanciest wine she’s ever had, a far cry from the cheap bottles she and Pietro used to steal back home.

Her throat suddenly feels dry even after the wine goes down, all she can see is her brother’s face, grinning at her because they got away with something.

Steve’s voice is so clear and close that it’s a conscious effort not to jump up on her chair. “Everything okay? You want something else?” He asks quietly, a hand moving to rub her back.

She shakes her head and takes a breath before smiling up at him. “I just… I miss him.”

His eyes are sad when he nods. “I know.”

She scoots her chair a little closer and settles against his chest as Sam clinks his glass.

“May I have your attention, please. Come on, people. Eyes on me.” As the chatter quiets down, he bows his head and clears his throat. “ _Thank you_. So, given that there are several senior citizens on the guest list, apart from our groom here, I thought it would be more prudent to do my speech tonight and spare us any heart attacks.”

Steve groans by her side, the vibrations reverberating through her own chest, while Natasha snorts at the old man joke. She bites her lip to keep from laughing, searching for his hand, but since it’s still draped over the back of her chair she lets her own rest atop his knee. Though out of the corner of her eye she can see him glance her way in reaction to her touch, she keeps her eyes forward. 

Sam seems a natural showman, pacing around behind his chair. “I know I haven't known Steve as long as some of you have, but I think I can confidently say none of us saw this coming.” The chuckles, Steve’s included, seem to be in agreement. “This man couldn’t tell me a single thing he wanted when we first met, and now he’s saying he wants this lovely woman for the rest of his life.” He turns to her then, and she feels as if her blood has run cold even with the smile on her face. “Good luck, Wanda. I think we all know he’s a stubborn asshole, but he has a heart of gold.”

Sam’s speech is less scandalous than she expected, but as he continues the true emotion shows through. This might be all a ruse, but he really does care for Steve and his happiness. This, of course, doesn’t deter the jokes.

“What I find funny about this, and correct me if I’m wrong, is that I have never met a person that is _this_ attractive but is so incredibly _bad_ at talking to women. I assume you’ve all watched Mulan, yeah? At some point, I hope, it’s a masterpiece. Whatever. You know how the general that tries to compliment her? ‘You fight good’? That’s Steve, but worse. So cheers to you for putting up with him.”

Steve is bright red when she glances up to her side, and she tries to hide her own blush behind the wineglass, which is quickly being drained. He matches her with the sparkling cider, though she can’t quite figure out why until the waiter comes by to refill their glasses with their supposedly right drinks. 

“Now, really, when I heard about these two, I knew they were a perfect match. For as long as I've known them, they have constantly strived to better themselves, not for praise or competition, not even vanity, but because it's what's right, because they want to do and _be_ good. And hopefully, they can help each other get on top of modern American slang too, because they’re woefully out of date. I’m sure one of them will be on top, at any rate.” He pauses for the laughter even as she feels her skin ablaze. As it dies down Sam turns to them with a kind look on his face, rising his glass toward them. “Above all, I hope you two are happy today, tomorrow, for the rest of your life together. God knows you certainly deserve it. ”

There’s soft clapping as Sam bows before taking a sip of his wine along with everyone else. Wanda looks up at Steve as she does, only to find that he’s already looking at her, his gaze so intense that she can feel the air leave her lungs in a rush.

Her mouth dries up behind her smile and she’s thankful for the mandated sip they’re all taking. She clears her throat and wraps both hands around the glass while everyone turns to Natasha as she lounges in her chair. A single eyebrow goes up. 

“Tomorrow,” she says, bringing her glass to her lips before adding, “maybe.” It earns a general chuckle before everyone is distracted by the meal being brought in. Steve’s arm moves from behind her chair as they both straighten up.

The food is nothing short of wonderful and the conversation dies down as they eat the main course, though the sweet dessert seems to bring back everyone’s chatty spirit; Natasha and Maria are talking about someone she doesn’t know, while Sam, Rhodey, and Pepper discuss some humorous subject she can’t quite make out.

Though it isn’t a completely uncommon occurrence, Wanda enjoys watching everyone so relaxed.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Steve asks behind his glass, eyes taking in the joyful scene in front of them. She turns away before his gaze can meet her own.

“I’m happy everybody’s happy,” she replies as she scoops up the last of her melting ice cream, wondering if she had said her thoughts out loud. 

“You know why they’re happy, right?” In a way, the question feels like a trap. 

“Because there’s alcohol and good food for free?” Even as she says it, she knows it’s not the answer he wants, or at least not what he believes.

“They’re happy because you get to stay.” His voice is so sure and final she can only nod, though he amends after a moment. “I mean, sure. Everyone does love a good excuse to party, but they’re happy because you’re staying. I’m happy.”

She can feel his eyes burning holes on the skin of her cheek, so she doesn’t dare turn just yet. Maria comes to her rescue, if only marginally, perhaps sensing—or seeing—the plea in her eyes for someone to help.

“So, where are you going for the honeymoon? That’s the only important question.” It’s far from the most important question—it didn’t figure into Wanda’s top five, not even top ten—but it was certainly a good distraction.

“These lucky two are going to Hawaii for a week,” Tony offers before she or Steve can open their mouths. “Pep, we should go to Hawaii. I need a vacation. Actually, _you_ need a vacation, I need a tan.”

Wanda is always astounded at the sheer velocity words can come out of his mouth in such short bursts. Pepper rolls her eyes with a smile and pats his shoulder. “We can talk about it.”

Steve clears his throat, not rudely but perhaps trying to avoid having Tony and Pepper as honeymoon buddies. “We’re going to Oahu. I hope we get a chance to go to Pearl Harbor.” While she wasn’t aware of her fiance’s particular wishes she’s certainly not going to deny him.

“I would like that,” she offers with a happy smile, reaching for his hand. It takes some effort not to overthink her movements, or the (perhaps imagined) reactions from other people, such as Natasha’s fleeting, questioning glance. “I’ve never been to the beach before, I’m really excited.”

Her reveal causes uproar around the table, enough to startle her into a bout of laughter. Steve hides his smile by ducking his head, squeezing her hand when her own tightens on instinct. 

“What? It is not that weird, Sokovia was between other countries,” she defends as if it had been an active choice to avoid the sea. 

“I’ll make sure you get so sick of the ocean you won’t want to see it ever again,” she hears Steve promise.

“Oh, she’s going to get sick of _something_ , alright. Doubt they’ll even see the ocean. There’s better things to do during your honeymoon,” Natasha says with that sharp, characteristic smirk, barely disguised behind her wine glass. Wanda doesn’t think any amount of wine is responsible for that comment. 

Without looking, she already knows Steve has a deep crimson blush creeping up his neck, much akin to the one she can feel making her ears burn. The tongue in cheek joke gets a laugh from everyone, even those in on the lie, their burning faces only egg them on.

“Nat…” Steve’s voice is admonishing, but soft. Her hand feels sweaty, she prays he doesn’t notice.

“I’m just saying.”

“Is that what you did on your honeymoon? I seem to recall a medical report about a dislocation after you two came back from that Italy vacation you took a few years ago,” Maria says, putting on a faux-ingenue expression. Natasha seems taken by surprise, either because Maria revealed something she didn’t want out there, or because she was defending the blushing couple.

“That wasn’t our honeymoon, I just dislocated my shoulder doing something stupid,” Clint says, shrugging.

“He was taking off his socks,” Natasha offers, and Sam lets out the loudest bark of laughter. The thought of Clint, such an accomplished fighter, dislocating his shoulder while doing something as mundane _is_ amusing, Wanda can hardly hide her own laughter behind her hand. 

She thinks Clint’s ears look redder than normal, but she can’t be sure. Rhodey straightens up on his seat and leans forward, frowning as he looks at the archer. “So you _are_ married?” He asks, voicing what probably everyone is wondering.

In lieu of an answer, Natasha rolls her eyes and Clint chuckles. 

Wanda leans back against Steve’s chest as she laughs, he wraps his arm around her shoulders. She feels more comfortable than she thought she would, even if every previous ‘date’ had involved some level of physical intimacy she thought this evening, in particular, would have her on edge. Instead, she’s actively choosing to be close to him, and only part of it is for the camera, for the public. Though it could be her alcohol consumption giving her courage to act on her stupid feelings under the guise of acting.

He doesn’t seem too uncomfortable either. 

There are a few more photos snapped before the photographer leaves, and it seems as if everyone relaxes just a little more. One last round is ordered before they call it a night. Wanda thinks that maybe the situation isn't so horrible if it brought everyone together like this. Like a family. Suddenly, it gets a little hard to swallow as she tries to commit the image to memory.

The night winds down as the glasses grow empty and, after a while, everyone collectively seems to agree it’s time to go before it’s much too late into the night.

Wanda has to steady herself with a hand on Steve’s arm, feeling as if the room topples slightly when she stands. Maybe she overestimated her tolerance after so long, but—though she can feel his questioning gaze on her—he doesn’t chastise her, instead wraps an arm around her until they’re in the car.

She feels happy and airy, definitely the alcohol, but she can’t find it in herself to care. Or to not lay against Steve’s chest as she dozes off during the ride out of the city. She must have fallen asleep at some point because the ride feels almost instantaneous. 

As she gets into bed, after begrudgingly taking her makeup off and washing her face per Natasha’s insistence, she notices she’s been too happy to be nervous about the day that awaits them in the morning. 

She hears a knock and a passing _Night, kiddo_ from Clint, but she’s too far gone to say anything in return.


	2. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big day.

Her eyes open before her alarm goes off and before Natasha even comes to make sure she’s awake. When she does show up, she’s already in the shower. All the stress leading up to this day has melted away. The hot water washes away whatever hint of a headache that had been lurking around the edges of her mind, fresh-smelling soap waking her up the rest of the way.

“We’re going to be getting ready in the closed conference room, breakfast will be ready so just come over in your robe,” Natasha calls out over the roar of the shower, but she shuts it off before the redhead leaves the room.

“Hair first, yes?” She asks through the half-open door, drying up haphazardly and putting on a robe before stepping out. While mildly surprised, Natasha looks pleased with her attitude. 

“Someone’s chipper. Good. I was worried I’d have to drag you to your own wedding.”

While Wanda doesn’t want to think about the smug smirk on her lips, she can’t contain her own good mood. “You said to treat it like a fancy party. Who doesn’t love a party?” She feels silly walking around in a flowy white robe, but putting on her own clothes just to take them off later seems even sillier. Natasha has her own burgundy robe fastened securely at the waist.

Wanda hesitates at the doorway. “Are the guys around?” Her voice doesn’t match the excitement she’d been feeling moments before.

“I locked them away until after breakfast,” Natasha says, a slight edge of impatience coloring her tone.

“I just wanted to make sure I don’t curse our wedding or something with bad luck." The floor feels cold underneath her feet as they make their way out. 

Natasha rolls her eyes at her words, shaking her head to herself. “You’re made for each other, I swear.” But the tone is soft, maybe a little amused. There's no malice behind it.

Still, she finds it safer not to ask what that could possibly mean. 

Pepper is already getting her hair done while talking on the phone and simultaneously eating fruit salad when they walk in. 

Wanda surveys the various food options laid out for them and makes herself a plate with fruit and a couple of adorably-tiny pancakes. She's halfway through her first bite, right there where she stands, when Natasha maneuvers her onto a chair to get started blow-drying her hair. 

“What does your resume look like? Avenger, spy, stylist?” She teases, which, for some reason, gets a laugh out of Pepper.

Natasha merely smiles as she works, finally setting down the brush after a moment. “Depends on the job. Now sit still. And finish eating before we break out the hairspray.” If Steve was ever gone for some reason, Wanda could easily see Natasha stepping in.

Her hair is set in curls and pulled away from her face, fixed in place with what feels like toxic amounts of spray. She does her own base makeup next while Natasha and Pepper get ready themselves. Everything set with powder, Natasha starts on her eye makeup. 

The time seems to fly by, in the blink of an eye, it’s almost one and there’s more fresh fruit and sandwiches brought in for lunch. They’re almost done getting ready, though she brushes her teeth quickly before lipstick is applied.

And then the dress is brought out of its plastic cocoon and her stomach feels filled with butterflies.

Pepper’s smile is blinding as she takes it down from the hanger. “Ready?” Natasha stands by her side so they can both help her into the dress. 

It’s hardly elaborate or complicated, but she still appreciates the support as they slip it overheard, pull her hands through the sleeves and close the zipper that runs the length of her spine. She steps into her shoes and takes a deep breath.

Maybe it’s the few inches of added height, but she feels different. The nerves are a little muted, for now, so she smiles as all three look at her in the mirror, taking in the sight.

“Lucky bastard,” is Natasha’s way of showing her approval, in what she thinks is an effort not to show any true emotion. Wanda laughs anyway.

# ———

Steve’s hands are sweaty, and he makes the undignified decision of wiping them off on the car seat. When the other option is his dress uniform there is no real choice. 

Sam looks over at him after a moment, as if he felt his nerves. It only makes his skin prickle. Tony has turned to him with narrowed eyes. “Were you this nervous when dear old dad dropped you off behind enemy lines?”

It surprises him, the fact that Howard told such a story to his son, and that Tony cared enough to remember. 

He rubs a hand over his face and shrugs. “It’s different.”

“Just saying you’re acting like you’re gonna die. Chill out. We can't have you all sweaty for the photos. Who wants to kiss a sweaty guy anyway?” The rambling is good for his nerves, he thinks. It keeps him distracted, keeps his mind busy and away from the racing thoughts that would plague him otherwise. Tony, Sam, and Rhodey’s bickering fills the silence for the rest of the way, and he’s thankful. 

When Pepper took them to meet the decorator and florist he thought everything sounded quite nice, but he hadn't realized just how much mere words couldn't do their craft justice. There are enough candles that he’s concerned their wedding is a fire hazard, backed up with soft light bulbs spread across the spaces, some specifically illuminating the flower arrangements; hydrangeas, magnolias, and peonies make the early spring air fragrant with their perfume, all framed by muted green leaves and golden details. He doesn’t think he’d do anything differently if they were doing this for real.

He passes up a glass of champagne as he makes another round of the perimeter for something to do. The guests are arriving, filling up the seats, and the rest of the party is ten minutes away. Twenty more and Wanda will be walking down the aisle. Towards him. 

Moments like these make him miss the days when he could get drunk.

Before he knows it, it seems the room is filled with familiar faces and then he’s sequestered off into a side room when Wanda and the rest arrive. His heart is in his throat, pounding so hard he feels like he’s choking. 

“You’re never this nervous when we go on the field. Hell, I don't think I’ve ever seen you nervous. You doing alright?” 

He turns to look at Sam and takes a deep breath, giving a short nod. “Yeah. No, I’m fine, Sam. I guess I’m just worried about this working out. It’s important we can get her to stay,” he says, rolling his shoulders as he takes a quick trip around the room to stretch.

Sam doesn’t seem convinced, eyebrows still up, so he gives in somewhat. “Alright. Alright. Jesus. I'm worried about screwing up the vows. And stepping on her, or the dress, when we're dancing,” he admits, finally dropping onto a chair with a sigh. 

The worries seem to placate the best man’s questioning and he pats his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. You’ve never had a problem with public speaking before.”

“And the dancing?” He asks with a chuckle, glancing back.

“Can't help you with that,” he says, joining in with a laugh. He hadn’t held back the comments on his dancing skills whenever he caught him and Natasha rehearsing. 

Pepper pops her head in, then, a bright smile on her lips. “We’re good to start.”

He’s thankful they rehearsed the day before since he’s certain he’s moving on pure muscle memory all the way up to the altar. Tony gives him a thumbs up from where he sits at the front, which is oddly endearing.

The music starts and the door opens and he has to take a deep breath to steady himself. It's not a large distance from the door to the aisle but it feels like it takes forever, like Wanda's shoes are clicking on for eternity.

And then she's there, right across from him, her white dress glimmering almost as bright as her smile and he doesn't think he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as this. 

The air in his lungs leaves all at once, making him take half a step back to regain his footing. He only notices Clint is there when Wanda lets go of his arm and he steps away to his chair while she takes her place by his side.

“Hi,” she says under her breath, which is a good cover to his own breathless greeting in return.

“Hey. Ready?” She nods as the officiant greets the room and begins the ceremony. He hears only bits and pieces, too enthralled by the way Wanda seems to be glowing, radiant by his side. 

He can't take his eyes off of her. As the minister speaks of their opportunity to build their life together he feels his heart flip around in his chest, and he takes a deep breath in an effort to actually listen to the sermon at his own wedding. He's glad he does, as they’re regaled with a Mark Twain quote:

_"A marriage makes two fractional lives a whole; it gives two purposeless lives a work and doubles the strength of each to perform it; it gives two questioning natures a reason for living and something to live for; it will give a new gladness to the sunshine, a new fragrance to the flowers, a new beauty to the earth, and a new mystery to life.”_

The minister continues, “May you all remember and cherish this ceremony, for on this day, with love, we will forever bind Steve and Wanda together.”

After all they’ve been through, he thinks they’re already pretty well bound together, as well as with all their friends. Finally, he takes a look around the room, to all the smiling faces there for them. Even the handful of people that know the truth behind this whirlwind marriage seem ecstatic. 

“Steve and Wanda, I would now invite you to publicly speak your commitment to your partner.”

Though they had run through the ceremony headings during rehearsal, it feels all too soon to be exchanging vows. He remembers the words clearly, but he didn’t think it fair to ask Wanda to memorize the words as well when most of the stress of weddings is already on the woman’s shoulders, so he nods to the man to feed him the lines.

His skin feels electrified, blood thumping through his veins. He's worried his heart might come leaping out of his mouth when he opens it and he’s glad it’s just words. 

“Wanda, today I take you to be my wife; I join my life with yours. I promise to love and to honor you; to treasure you and to respect you; to walk with you side-by-side in joy and sorrow.” His eyes are locked with hers as he repeats each part, never wavering. “I vow to be honest, caring, and truthful; to love you as you are, and not as I want you to be, and to grow old by your side as your love and best friend.” He can hear a few scattered, amused chuckles at the last part. “I give you my hand, my heart, and my love, from this day onward.”

All things considered, he doesn’t feel like he’s _lying_ ; sure, maybe it's a little dramatic for just friends, a little too intense, but he doesn't think the promises will be too hard to keep for a dear friend. 

That he truly cares for her more deeply than strictly friends is inconsequential. 

He never thought he’d be getting married, not after the ice. The guy that wanted that went into the Atlantic and didn’t come back out. Even if he found someone he loved that deeply in the present, he didn’t think it would be fair to put them in such a dangerous position, but being married to Wanda isn’t such a terrible fate, if just for her sake. 

She's smiling softly at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling. It's her turn, and all he can do is smile reassuringly at her.

“Steve, today I take you to be my husband…”

It's strange to hear such a specific string of words, but they're the sweetest words he's heard when spoken in her voice. He gets lost in her eyes as she speaks, as much of a cliche as it is. He had meant to recite his vows with a mental detachment, clinical objectivity if only inside his head, in a vain effort to smother his true feelings—but hearing Wanda say the same words he can't stop his mind from conjuring domestic images to accompany them.

Doesn't everyone want someone to love them as they are, and not a romanticized image in their head? 

The minister asks them to hold hands, but he’s certain he would have reached for her without prior prompting anyway. 

“Steve, do you take Wanda to live together in the union of marriage? To take her as your best friend and partner for life? To honor, cherish, and love her, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, for all of your days?”

“I do,” he says, and he knows he means it as far as she will let him, for as long as she allows. Selfish, maybe, but he doesn't think it’ll hurt anyone.

He feels Wanda tighten her fingers briefly around his, and when it’s her turn to say I do they're both grinning from ear to ear. As they finally turn their attention back to the minister, he's happy to find Wanda doesn't let go of him. 

Natasha steps forward and produces the ridiculously-tiny pillow with the gold bands, and his mouth goes a little dry as he takes the one that will go on her finger. 

“The wedding ring’s circular shape reflects the unending power of love; a force with no beginning and no end. You should wear these rings proudly, and let them remind you each day of your commitment to each other. Please repeat after me.”

His heart is pounding but his voice comes out steady, and that’s all that matters. 

“I, Steve, give you, Wanda, this symbol of my love.” He takes her left hand in his and meets her eyes, letting out a slow breath, trying to put on a confident visage. “As I place it on your finger, I commit the whole of my heart and soul to you. I promise to cherish you for the rest of my days. I give you all that I am and accept all that you are."

The ring slips perfectly onto her finger, and he can’t help himself when he runs his fingers over the soft skin on the back of her hand. She has a soft smile on her face as she meets his eyes, and even if he can see she’s as nervous as he is he feels at peace with that. They’ll be alright. 

She takes the ring and then his hand as she recites the words, his heart rate spiking at the feeling of her soft fingertips on his wrist, grazing his fingers, the way she unflinchingly meets his eyes as she speaks. “... I give you all that I am, and accept all that you are.” The words are innocent and he really shouldn’t be having the kind of thoughts he’s having—not just because they’re just friends, but because it feels disrespectful to her and everyone present. 

He clears his throat in an effort to clear away the thoughts, focusing back on the present. 

“Steve and Wanda, take a moment to recall every magical moment in your life that led you to this point. All the smiles and tears endured, all the meticulous plans that went awry and the happy accidents that got you back on course. Everything that has ever happened has led you to this miraculous moment, right here. While the words you have spoken have sealed your union, it is the smashing of the glass that truly seals your spiritual union. It’s tradition that as the glass is broken _mazel tov_ is shouted by those present.”

He can feel Wanda’s hand tighten around his, her eyes searching for him with a surprised look on her face. Sam takes a moment to walk around them and place the cloth-wrapped glass in front of them. 

He squeezes her hand as they take a step to prepare, and he likes the look on her face _a lot._ It’s a conscious effort to look away from it.

He smashes the glass with one foot while still holding her hand, her own hold strong—to keep her balance, he assumes—and the room shouts the phrase in joyful unison. Her smile is as bright as he’s ever seen it. 

Sam takes away the glass as everyone claps and they step back to their original spot, looking at the minister.

“The glass, once broken, may never truly be reassembled. The change is permanent. Likewise, the bonds that you have formed today are permanent and spirit-altering. Having entered into the beautiful institution of marriage, your lives have been changed irrevocably for the better.”

Steve can’t argue with that, he thinks, as he smiles to himself, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Without further ado, by the power vested upon me by the State of New York, it is my honor and delight to pronounce Steve and Wanda as husband and wife. You make now kiss the bride.”

If he thought he was nervous before, it’s nothing compared to the feeling in his stomach now. Even while his smile widens at the proclamation his body feels electrified as he takes Wanda’s hands and he leans down to meet her halfway.

It feels different than the chaste kiss they shared in rehearsal, it goes on and he thinks he could kiss her forever until his lungs run out of air and even after that—he wouldn’t mind dying right then and there where they stand. 

But they break apart before their oxygen is truly depleted, though he stays close to her, and he couldn’t tell you if it was her keeping her hand in his or the other way around. The cheers and clapping are both thunderous and muted as if underwater. 

It takes a moment for them to finally step back into reality, Natasha stepping forward to give her the bouquet so they can walk down the aisle together, hands clasped tight.

He feels like he’s in a dream as they head out to the side room where he had been waiting just before. A Jewish tradition just like the glass smashing, which he’s not going to complain about. A few quiet minutes alone away from the crows will help both of them. The door closes behind them, the noise of the world falling away and he feels like he can relax his shoulders. 

“We did it,” he says, his cheeks aching from the smile, resting his back against the door as he catches his breath, feeling like that little kid with asthma again. 

She laughs nervously in front of him, looking like she’s about to shake right out or her skin. “We did it.”

Once he’s certain he’s not going to hyperventilate he walks up to her, nodding as they try to wrap their minds around the fact that they’re now married. She closes the distance the rest of the way, throwing her arms around him.

“Thank you,” she whispers, the sound slightly muted, and his heart swells at the words. His own arms wrap around her frame and hold her there, close to him for as long as she wants him to. It could have been a minute or an hour when she finally takes half a step back, her hand lingering along his arm. 

“I think the hardest part is through,” he stays, shaking his head with a small laugh. “Just some pictures and food. We'll even get to have cake.”

She makes a face as she sits, taking care to do so properly with the dress. He doesn't know how she manages. “Don’t forget the dancing.”

He’s definitely worried about that but he can’t really think about it too long when she looks like that. 

“You look beautiful.” The words burst out of him without a second thought, too enthralled by the sight to keep his mouth in check. His hand rubs the back of his neck for something to keep busy as he ducks his head. 

“Thank you. Do you like the dress? I worried you wouldn't, but this seemed simple, no fuss. I thought it looked good.” His brow furrows, how could she worry about that? 

She shouldn’t have worried, he wants to tell her that, but instead, he just sits across from her and nods. “It’s gorgeous. I like it.” He _does_ , it’s simple but elegant, clean lines, and beautiful fabric, but most importantly he likes it because it’s her that’s wearing it. 

She meets his eyes and he hopes his smile is reassuring. He wants to reach for her hand, feel the softness of her skin again, but there’s a knock on the door that sends him jumping to his feet. 

Natasha peeks her head in with a smile that isn’t her characteristically sharp smirk, much softer instead. “The guests are all settling in the reception area, how about we get the pictures?” She asks, and this time—unlike her usual ‘questions’—he feels like they can choose. 

He turns to Wanda who’s already smiling at him. God, that smile makes his heart soar. “Alright," he goes, offering his hand. “If that’s what my wife wants.” The word feels much too easy to say but he smiles anyway when he catches Natasha rolling her eyes at him as they pass her on their way to the garden.

He feels like he’s back in the war, posing for show, but his smile stays as everyone joins them. The somewhat serious shoot devolves into a laughing bunch as they try to fit into frame but Wanda is always by his side, in his arms, holding his hand. As the rest of the party is dismissed and it’s just the two of them he finds it easier to pretend, looking in her eyes with an even brighter smile. He could look at her for the rest of his life.

Pepper watches on with a smile before calling them away to the main tent, announcing it’s time to be officially presented to the world as if the guests hadn’t been at the ceremony. 

Tony’s voice reaches them before they reach the wooden platform, and he’s not sure what exactly he expected from him. 

“Everyone please give a warm round of applause for the new couple, who are about to regale us with what I’m sure will be the most graceful of first dances.” He sighs and smiles to himself, glancing over when Wanda squeezes his hand.

“You better not step on me,” she whispers with a stern look on her face and he frowns deeply, already shaking his head.

“I won’t. I think I practiced more than enough, Natasha made sure—” She cracks a smile she seems to have been biting back and he feels a weight lift off his chest. “Real funny, sweetheart.”

Her mouth opens, but the clapping has subsided somewhat and the first note of the song is playing so they walk in past the fabric, greeted by renewed cheers that slowly fade as Jo Stafford sings _No Other Love_.

He certainly did practice more than enough, his arms moving on their own accord to hold her close as they begin to sway through the first verse. He knows he’s grinning like an idiot, spinning her around and watching as the fabric moves with her, the warm light reflecting off it, and she looks as bright as the sun. 

She’s in his arms again as the music swells and he holds her even closer, resting his head against hers while her hand comes up to his chest, just above his heart—which makes him worry she’ll be able to feel just how hard it’s beating. He takes her hand in his and holds it gently in place, his thumb stroking along the back of it, catching on the two rings.

His mother used to tell him one day he’d find a nice girl and only then he would settle, his anxious energy finally find a place to be channeled into. He doesn’t want to think about what she’d have to say about this whole affair, at least the reason behind it. But he thinks she and Wanda would’ve gotten along.

(She would have certainly caught onto his real feelings; she always had a nose for things he tried to keep from her. Sure, it was usually scrapes or bruises, but she always could tell when he and Buck got into an argument.)

Wanda steps back for a twirl during the short break between vocals before coming back closer than before. Her lips are moving faintly, and he thinks he can make out that she’s mouthing the lyrics along with the song. He buries his nose in her hair to keep some very specific and inappropriate thoughts at bay, instead having his senses inundated by her perfume.

She doesn’t let him get lost in it, though, her head moving back so she can make him meet her eyes as the song reaches the last few lines. Before he knows it she’s on her toes and the hand on his chest has moved to his cheek and she’s kissing him. 

His arms wrap around her waist now that they’ve stopped moving. He doesn’t want this to ever end, doesn’t want the song fade out. He wants her in his arms for the rest of eternity, wants to feel her lips pressed against his forever. And perhaps that’s why, when she lets herself fall back onto her heels, his arms tighten instead of letting go, her lips parting with a small gasp of surprise. Both her hands hold him by the jaw, just for a moment, before they finally let each other go. 

His brain doesn’t completely disconnect, thankfully, since he has enough foresight to not look completely bewildered and puts a smile on his lips. He catches her hand in his before it’s fallen completely and they take a moment to breathe before going to the long table where the rest of the team await for them on their feet, clapping. His heart is fluttering around his chest and instrumental music plays as they sit. 

Sam claps his shoulder a few times but he can’t bear to meet anyone’s eyes as guilt creeps up on him. He doesn’t have much chance to wallow, though, as drinks are passed to him and Wanda, and she clinks their glasses together before reaching for his hand under the table. He lets her take it (would let her take anything she wanted) and finally shakes himself back to reality, which is that he has to act like he’s very much in love and as happy as can be. 

Natasha calls Wanda’s attention away while he sits back to take in the small crowd gathered. The team sits with them at either side on a long table at the head of the room, all other guests sitting on round tables arranged along the sides.

It doesn’t slip his notice when Wanda surreptitiously switches their champagne flutes. After a sip, her hand moves to his knee, sending his heart to his throat. “Thanks for not stepping on me,” she says above the chatter and the music and he lets out a chuckle.

Maybe he’s overreacting—Natasha accuses him of it often—and she’s already put it behind her.

He takes her hand and squeezes, leaning closer, enough for his lips to brush her temple to keep his voice at a normal level. “Told you I practiced. I hope I did Natasha proud,” he hums, taking a moment before pulling back and himself with breaking apart some bread to smother the butterflies in his stomach. 

“We even did spins, I think that is extra points.” Her fingers pluck away a piece of bread from between his, a smirk on her lips that draws out one of his own.

The hum of conversation drops to a hush, mostly drowned out by the music playing around them. He has the sneaking suspicion that the playlist was specifically curated by Natasha to go with her old man jokes but he finds it comforting. 

He practically inhales the soup and makes an effort not to do the same with his steak. It, and the roasted vegetables, looks delicious as does Wanda’s fish fillet. 

She’s swigging the champagne a little faster than he thinks she should be but he can't really blame her, not when he would be doing the same if it did anything for him. He hopes the food will help keep her from getting wasted. 

“Is it that bad being married to me?” He asks with a raised brow, but the corners of his lips are fighting a smile behind his glass of sparkling cider. 

She gives him a look as she chews on a bite of her salad, narrowing her eyes. “How would I know? It has been an hour,” she tells him after a moment, raising an eyebrow back at him that makes him uneasy. 

“Well, as long as you don’t change your mind.” It sounds earnest, maybe too much so, but it sells the idea. It can’t hurt.

“How could I ever?” She empties the glass after she speaks, her eyes so intense he has to fight the urge to shift in his chair. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to take that, and asking doesn’t seem prudent so when he notices Clint has taken hold of the microphone he’s glad for the distraction.

“I’d like to say a few words,” he starts, waiting a moment as people redirect their attention to him. “I love Wanda as I would my own daughter and I know that Steve will be a good husband to her. How do I know that? Well, because he's a good man. And because he knows what I used to do for a living," he meets his eyes, facing him completely, and continues, "and no amount of serum will keep you safe if you hurt her. But of course, I trust you would never do that.” He lifts his champagne. "To the happy couple."

It’s playful and teasing and Clint knows they’re not actually in love, but Steve certainly has a deep respect for the archer—has no doubts he would go to the ends of the earth to protect the people he cares about. All this he knows, but his face still burns unabashedly. The sound of Wanda’s soft laughter by his side lessens its sting.

The team cheers the loudest—some of the guests look a little concerned—the sound ringing in his ears enough not to catch whatever it is Clint says to Wanda when he walks back to hug her. As long as he makes it to the hotel room in one piece he won’t worry too much, he thinks as he shakes hands with him.

Steve glances to his right towards Natasha, who raises her glass at him. He’ll take that as a _no_ on her speech, then. Good. He can’t take a speech from Natasha in public, knowing how she is. It’s safer for his health this way, he doesn’t want to find out if it’s possible to get hurt from excessive blushing.

People begin trickling onto the dance floor and he relaxes, glad eyes won’t all be on them now. Sam clears his throat by his side as he stands, buttoning up his suit jacket—all while grinning at him. He almost doesn’t want to ask as he moves to walk around behind his chair. His mouth is half-open when Sam’s hand is reaching out to Wanda. 

“Your husband here,” he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to that, “Dances like he cooks.”

“How?” Wanda beats him to the question, her eyebrows furrowed even while she reaches to take the offered hand. She’s pulled to her feet easily, and Sam winks. 

“Like a bland white boy. Let me show you how it’s done.”

“ _Hey!_ ” He calls after them but they only turn to give him a grin as they walk away. At least she’s having fun.

The rest of the team decides to join them, and so does he, heading towards one of the guest tables. There, a wisp of a woman with a cropped white hair spreads her arms in delight and stands to her feet, a little unsteadily. 

“Hi, Helen. Are you having fun?” He asks as he leans in to hug her, and she laughs softly. 

“You know it. You look very handsome, lucky gal. Oh, I worried you would be a bachelor forever,” she teases, taking his hands in hers. They’re surprisingly soft.

“Well, I don’t know if I should be offended or not, but how about a dance? You do owe me one.” 

She laughs and he remembers being thirteen, with the biggest crush on Bucky’s cousin who lived down the street. He always did tease him for it. 

He holds her steady all the way to the dance floor, finally letting one of his hands to fall to her waist. 

Sam and Wanda zip by them a moment later, laughing their heads off. His eyes follow her for a moment before Helen snickers and shakes her head. “You look at her like you had never seen her before. I remember Albert had the same look in his eye on our wedding day. Oh, you remember don’t you?” He certainly does. Eating pie at her parent’s place after they went to the court to be married. Albert was shipping out to the war, so she put on her best dress and they did it all in a day.

He half wishes they could’ve done the same, but he can’t deny he enjoys having old familiar faces here. 

“I remember. And I remember Buck giving him the shovel talk since your brother wasn’t around.” She laughs heartily, raspier than the old days but still her, and he smiles at the sound. 

They dance two songs before she jokingly accuses him of trying to kill her and since Clint is now twirling Wanda around he offers a hand to Natasha, pulling her close when she takes his hand. She rolls her eyes but smiles, so he doesn’t fear for his life.

“So, how did I do?”

“With what, the acting or the dancing?” 

“Didn’t know you were going to grade my acting skills. “

“I’m always judging your acting skills.”

“Ouch.”

She scoffs, he feels it under his hand. Her dress feels much more slippery than Wanda’s did, he doesn’t think wearing something made of such fabric would be too comfortable. 

“You’re doing well. Like, surprisingly well. You get an A.”

“No A-plus?”

“Don’t push it, you’re still a terrible kisser.” He opens his mouth to argue, but lets it go. Hardly an argument worth having in the middle of his wedding. “Does Wanda know you kissed me?”

“ _You_ kissed me. Does Clint know?”

“I know you told him.” It takes him by surprise that she knows of his confession, but he’d have felt guilty if he didn’t say anything. Even before they stopped hiding the true nature of their relationship he could tell they were close, extremely so. He didn’t take Natasha as someone that publicly wore jewelry for just about anyone and an arrow necklace hanging from her neck, even when the world collapsed around her, felt like a conscious choice. In his mind, anyway—he never found a good chance to ask about it outright and it seems quite redundant to ask now.

Especially when he catches her looking over to Clint with what Sam once described as ‘heart-eyes’. 

“Who would’ve thought the Black Widow would be so smitten?” He hums, unable to hold back on their usual banter. 

Natasha turns her attention back to him, meeting his eyes squarely but not saying a word just yet. He doesn’t fully grasp how she can be absolutely unnerving one second and then look completely placid and friendly in the blink of an eye. She’d certainly mastered something primal, something that spoke to the most basic instincts of the human brain. “Maybe you’ll learn a trick or two, if you pay attention. Can’t hurt when you’re trying to sell the honeymoon stage.”

“So you and Clint are on the honeymoon stage?”

“You’re impossible. I’m trying to teach you things here, _important_ things.”

Steve laughs softly and spins her around before offering to trade places with Clint. Enough interaction with Natasha for the evening. Teaching him important things by staring at the man she’s clearly in love with. Great lesson there.

Wanda practically jumps into his arms, a swift exchange of dancing partners. She’s laughing happily and practically beaming up at him. It’s infectious.

“Enjoying our wedding, sweetheart?” He meant to sound teasing but his voice sounds much too soft out loud. 

Wanda holds his hands tight and makes a show of spinning them around. Perhaps not dizzying speeds, but certainly something. She looks young when she laughs, or maybe she just looks her age. She’s hardly more than a kid, which makes a strange feeling of guilt settle in his stomach. Though she’s certainly a kid that slipped more than one glass of champagne, if the flush on her face and brightness of her eyes is anything to go from, accompanied by such easy laughter when she’s usually so quiet. Like a little mouse, all dressed in grey, slipping around corners and flashing through hallways. 

As they slow to match the pace of everyone else around the dancefloor she takes a closer look at his pins, fingering at them, seemingly taking the details in. 

Her smile is playful, pulling at the corners of her mouth. That smile says mischief.

“Who’s that lady you were dancing with? Should I be jealous?”

As far as his expectations were, that question didn’t figure into what he was leaning towards but she’s certainly teasing him. 

“You know you don’t,” he answers, trying to fight a smile as he shakes his head to himself.

“No? Are you sure? You seemed like friends. Did you know her from before?” Her eagerness is endearing, but there’s something underneath he can’t quite read.

He meets her eyes with a smirk and a dramatic long-suffering sigh. “She was my first crush, way back when. She’s a couple years older than me, lived down the block. Bucky teased me about it for years.” The look of mild surprise on her face is funny, even if it shifts a moment later into a face-splitting grin. 

“Your _first_ first crush? I definitely have to worry, then. I would hate for my husband to leave me before the wedding night.” He nearly chokes on his own spit but thinks he does a commendable effort to hide it. Before he can even think of a response she seems to have moved on, resting her cheek on his chest. “This isn’t very comfortable,” she says, probably referring to the pins and badges, overly cold, pressed against her skin. 

But he’s more focused on her hands, the one wrapped loosely around his waist and the one playing with his tie between them, barely tugging on it as her fingers seem determined to explore every inch of his suit jacket, including the inside of it. 

Clearing his throat he takes her hands gently and holds them between their bodies, meeting her eyes with a soft smile.

“Do you think we could get some fresh air?” She whispers half into his chest, but it’s not teasing this time. How is he supposed to say no to her when she’s looking at him like that?

“Anything you want.”

She squeezes his hands and lets one go before leading them towards one of the openings. Just before they step out he grabs a glass of water from a waiter that passes by him and gives a quick ‘sorry’. (He takes a sip to make sure it’s water and not vodka).

She finds a bench and sits with a sigh and though she won’t let go of him her eyes are taking in the city skyline, bright with lights now that the sun has gone down.

He takes a seat by her side in silence, watching her with the same wonder she has for the flickering lights around them. She seems to notice after a while, turning to face him.

“Hi.”

His heart flips around in his chest and he smiles softly. “Hi. You should drink this,” he says, offering the glass. She takes it and smells it briefly before taking a sip, looking almost apologetic for it. He doesn’t blame her. 

“I think I maybe drank too much of the champagne. This should help. And the air too.”

“Don’t forget we still have cake to eat. Might help too. Soak up all the alcohol.” She chuckles and nods, looking down into her glass of water. The silence lingers, even when the music and chatter from inside manage to reach them. 

He always finds himself wondering what she’s thinking in moments like these. He reaches out towards her with a hand and her fingers wrap around his with no hesitation. “We’ll stay out here for as long as you need,” he promises. She’s never been fond of crowds, he knows this, but a quiet voice in his head tells him that’s not strictly _why_ he's willing to stay away for an indefinite amount of time. He just wants to be with her, all the time. Even in silence, her presence makes him feel like someone else, someone new. 

They could be anything they wanted to be if they put their minds to it. If he lets himself, he can see them getting away from everything, living a quiet, domestic life. 

Never before had he imagined himself in that position, not after the ice. But looking at Wanda now, if she asked him for that he doesn’t think he’d even think to protest.

“What are you thinking about?” Her voice calls him back to the present and away from any fantasies of buying a house in the countryside as Clint did. Of course, he can’t answer her question truthfully, not completely at least.

“Just thinking about the future.” Her expression shifts, something unpleasant seems to cross her mind but she doesn’t make him privy to it. Instead, she tries to wash it away with the last of the water. 

“They must be missing us. I think we should go back.” Something is bothering her and he can’t figure out what and before he can ask she’s already on her feet.

He knows what’s coming before he hears a single word out of anyone’s mouth, and he really should have thought about it before they left in the first place. All he can do is brace for impact. 

The wolf-whistling comes the loudest from Tony, while Sam just cheers. Clint remains pointedly quiet. 

“You couldn’t even wait until you were in the hotel?” Natasha bumps into his side as she speaks. It’s obviously their life's mission to find out if he can be injured from blushing. Wanda doesn’t seem to be faring much better.

He wraps his arm around her and waves them off, feeling her hand settle around his waist. 

“Sorry about that. I should’ve known.”

She chuckles and shrugs one shoulder, glancing up to meet his eyes. “I’m used to them.” 

“Can’t fault me for not wanting my wife to deal with _that_.” He really thought he’d have a harder time using the word, or that it would take him much longer to get used to it. Instead, it seems to come with little effort, leaving the ghost of a sweet taste lingering on his tongue. 

“I’ve heard worse,” is all she says. She doesn’t sound angry about it, but neither does she sound amused by it.

He’s thankful for the cake-shaped distraction they now stand in front of. Guests gather around them and he can hear the telltale clicking of a camera shutter but nothing matters more than the giddy look on Wanda’s face.

She told him, during their last cake testing session, that she had a particular soft spot for chocolate cake—her grandmother always made it for her and Pietro's birthday. He had tried more cake samples than he cared to remember and some were delicious but even if he had found some groundbreaking flavor he would have never said so. She deserves to find happiness and if that meant letting her pick anything she preferred for the wedding, in his book he was doing the right thing. 

(He reminds himself of this as he swallows a bite of cake she has put in his mouth, the sweetness a little overwhelming. Anything for her.) 

She gathers all the female guests on the dance floor for the bouquet toss, one more tradition before the night winds down with the dessert. 

He stands a safe distance by Clint’s side, watching the festivities. His eyes meet Natasha’s eyes for a moment, her expression a clear warning and it just makes him more tempted to tell Wanda to throw it at her on purpose, but the flowers are already in the air when he takes a step forward. 

His eyes follow the bouquet and he can already tell that, whatever she was aiming for, she’s way off the mark. 

Arms reach up into the air, he thinks maybe some fingers brush against the petals, but not close enough to wrap around any part of it. The white and green bundle does an arc above all that are gathered for it and then smacks Sam square in the face. 

Laughter erupts throughout the small crowd as he seems to finally react, in time to catch it before it hits the ground. Just as he seems to take everything, he takes it in stride, looking over at a pretty girl and sending her into a fit of giggles when he winks at her. 

Steve walks up to Wanda, brushing her shoulder as a warning before his arm wraps around her waist. “You have no idea what you did.”

Eventually, everyone settles to eat the cake that had been served during the tossing. It tastes overwhelmingly sweet, much too strong for his taste, but no one else seems particularly bothered. 

But maybe it’s because everyone is shooting back the champagne like it’s the end of the world—Wanda very much included. 

His hand reaches for hers where it rests upon his knee, her fingers feeling small when his own wrap around them. Whatever good the glass of water had done it was probably negated by now. 

She turns to face him when he squeezes, a small smudge of chocolate frosting on the corner of her mouth. It takes effort not to instantly reach out and clean it with his thumb. The bright look on her eyes is endearing—or would be if he didn’t know the reason behind it. He reaches for a napkin and leans closer to clean her lip. 

“Maybe you should slow down with that,” he proposes, raising an eyebrow and hoping he’s not being pushy. She reaches up to take the napkin from him, being far more careful of her remaining lipstick than he was, and scrunches up her nose. 

“But it's so good,” she whines, throwing her head back a little and pouts. It’s pretty cute and it could probably get him to agree to anything she wanted but he can’t say that out loud, lest he creates a pouting monster.

“Yeah, I can see that. The cake’s pretty good too, huh?” 

She’s far too endearing, she has him wrapped around her finger. Quite a lot of power for a girl to have. He likes the way she’s looking at him. (And maybe he likes the way her fingers feel on his leg a little too much.)

He desperately wishes he could blame some of his behavior on alcohol, but all of his senses are in top shape. Wanting to clear his mind of such thoughts, he stands and pulls her up with a smile, reveling in the sound of her laughter as she follows to the dance floor. 

A slow song starts playing as his free hand wraps around her waist, the one still holding hers now resting on his chest as is her chin, which means she’s looking straight up at him. 

There are no twirls or spins this time, in part because he doesn’t want to risk dizzying her further, but also because he just wants to hold her close for a moment and take it all in, try to memorize every little detail of her. She smells like flowers and her shampoo and like chocolate cake. The grounded but sweet smells suit her.

He feels her shiver in his arms when a gust of chilly wind blows through the tent and he doesn’t even think about it before he’s taking off his jacket. It’s far too large on her frame, makes her look downright tiny, but she looks happy and there’s no more shivering. 

He meets her eyes with a soft smile and thinks he would be happy to stay here forever, and maybe he would have, but Wanda yawns then, turning her face away to hide it before turning back to him. 

“I think I want to go to bed now.” Anything for her. And, if he’s being honest, he’s more than ready for some peace and quiet. 

“Alright. I think it’s time to go, too.” She leads him this time, back to their table where she has—what he hopes is—a glass of water. A smirk is on her face the whole time, it stays as they’re being cheered on by their friends and flower petals are being thrown overhead. Her grip is tight, though he hopes she trusts he wouldn't’ let her fall. 

Natasha hugs Wanda tightly and says something he doesn’t quite catch. From the alarmed look it puts on his wife’s face _(his wife)_ he’s glad he didn’t hear it.

Of course, that just means his hug is next, with a warning whispered in his ear. “If you hurt her, I’ll help Clint hide the body. Enjoy your honeymoon!” The last part is said much louder as she waves and steps back to stand by Clint.

Once he’s sure Wanda is fully inside their ride he closes the door and joins her on the other side. Though they haven’t left, the noise has fallen away and he can hear his own thoughts again. Which proves to be a double-edged sword when she curls up against his chest.

The car pulls away from the building, and he almost feels like he left his stomach behind. From now on, it’s just the two of them for a week. He’d gotten used to their friends’ input and ruckus, and now it was gone. The car feels too quiet. 

She’s so still and silent he’s worried she’s fallen asleep on him but when the car stops she straightens with a sigh. He offers his hand for support once more, never quite getting used to her touch. Once both her feet are firmly on the ground she uses his hand as an anchor. 

Momentarily, he takes note that she’s certainly gotten stronger since she joined the team. Who would have thought that proper nourishment and rest would be beneficial to her training? This is certainly not the time to point this out, though (even if she did dig her heels in at the beginning) mainly because he’s not sure she’ll remember anything he says to her right now. 

As he requests their keycard at the front desk she squeezes his hand and giggles when the receptionist congratulates them, it’s far too cute. 

While the car ride seemed to last only a moment, the elevator ride seems eternal and he can’t imagine how tired Wanda must be. Feeling crowded seemed to tire her easily. 

“How are you holding up?” He asks as a way to offer a distraction, and maybe because he wants to know where they stand. 

“I am very tired. My feet hurt very, very much. But I had a lot of fun,” she says, flashing him a happy grin. He likes when she smiles like that.

“I had a lot of fun too. Hadn’t gone dancing in a while.” Her head bumps against his shoulder as she nods. 

“You’re a good dancer.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

The doors open and she steps out ahead of him, only slowing down a little for him to catch up. He double-checks the number on the door before using the card to let themselves in. 

He lets out a sigh of relief when he looks inside. It’s certainly nice, of course, he hadn’t doubted that, but he had worried they would go too far with the extravagant choice. Thankfully, as far as he can see, the furnishing doesn’t seem to be a gaudy gold but polished wood more than anything else. 

Their bags sit at the foot of the bed, his usual duffel bag now packed for the sunny weather of Hawaii. Hopefully, no one took it upon themselves to add anything to his suitcase. He wouldn't put it past anyone on the team.

He takes a few steps or the bathroom at the same time Wanda does. There's a small moment of indecision before she laughs and he takes a step back. “Ladies first,” he insists when she opens her mouth, surely to protest. “I'll check the room.” It might be excessive, ridiculous even, to check for bugs or security red flags, especially after Natasha was here but it’ll give him something to do and will perhaps help with his anxiety.

Wanda bows her head and walks in with her suitcase. As he starts inspecting the crevices of the room, trying his best to remember all the pointers that Natasha has given him over the years, the door opens and she gives him an apologetic smile as she drags in the plastic wrapping for the dress and disappears again. He finds himself smiling as he starts over. 

He's halfway through the room when he hears the door open once more but when he turns around there's no figure leaving the bathroom or even standing at the doorway. 

Before he can speak up he can hear her voice call out loud “Steve? I have a small problem,” she says and whatever it is he doesn't think he's trained for it. “Can you come here, please?”

He realizes he hasn't moved, hasn’t even given signs of life, so he clears his throat and hurries over, only slowing down to not seem _eager_. He can feel his heart beating hard against his sternum and he's certain he's overreacting. He knocks a couple of times on the door and holds his breath, though he’s not sure what for. 

He doesn’t dare step inside though, not yet.

“Is something wrong?” God, he hopes his voice isn’t as faint as it sounds to his own ears.

“Not... wrong. I just— I can't undo the zipper,” she says, taking a few steps back towards the door, turned away from him. He can see her face in the mirror in front of him. That's where she meets his eyes, suddenly, unflinchingly even through her tiredness. His fingers curl by his sides as he looks away from her intense gaze, redirecting his attention to the problem at hand. The little white zipper is swaying ever-so-slightly from her movement. He catches it between his thumb and index finger to stop it before he can think twice about it.

“I can help,” he offers uselessly. What else is he meant to do? He can feel her eyes watching him through the mirror. He doesn't meet them—can’t bring himself to do it—as he lifts his free hand to straighten the fabric, holding it against her shoulders, and the other pulls downwards. Slow, it seems to go on forever, all along the length of her spine.

The white fabric slacks and falls to either side just an inch, he can see the small bumps of her vertebrae in the warm light of the bathroom. The hand he had used to hold the dress falls away slowly, follows the pattern of her body, and his fingertips graze along the hills and valleys on her back. Goosebumps rise on her skin, an alarm going off in her body, a primal reaction. He drops his hands at once and clasps them behind his back as he retreats, catching a glance of her face as he turns away.

She whispers a thank you, or he thinks she does, as the door closes with a gentle click. He decides to busy himself with taking out something to wear to bed, keeping his mind occupied with other things. 

Such as going to bed. 

That particular problem had slipped his mind. Obviously, there is only one bed, a bit suspicious for newlyweds to request separate beds. At least it's not the eighteen century; providing ‘proof’ of consummation was perhaps going a little too far. He can’t continue down this train of thought, he tells himself, shakes his head and tries to focus on his self imposed task. Sweatpants and a t-shirt surely are good enough. Respectful enough.

The door opens and it makes him a moment to react, turning towards her. She’s just standing there, watching him from the doorway, all lit up from behind with the warm light. He doesn’t think he'll ever get tired of looking at her. 

But staring indefinitely isn’t the best course of action when she must be exhausted, and the alcohol probably isn’t helping. 

Certain he has everything he needs, he straightens up and takes a few steps towards the bathroom—and towards her.

“You should get some sleep, the flight is at ten. If we wake up early enough we can get breakfast downstairs before we leave.” His fingers fidget with the dangling drawstring of his pants. She finally steps away from the bathroom, laying the now protected dress on the back of a chair, slowly circling back to the bed. She seems to hesitate for a moment, her fingers hovering above the comforter. “I’ll take the couch, Wanda,” he says quietly, locking the door behind himself before she can object. 

He takes far too long in there, taking a frankly ridiculous amount of care while taking off his uniform and hanging it up before changing. He splashes cold water on his face, some through his hair to break up the gel and he counts to sixty before opening the door. 

He expects to hear her voice as he steps out but as he moves to lay down his suit, much like she had done, he notices she’s already asleep, lying on top of the covers. He allows himself a few seconds to take in the scene; she looks peaceful, relaxed. If he could provide that feeling of security while she was awake he’d spend every waking moment trying to ensure it. 

She shifts on the bed and he snaps out of it, walking over to pull the opposite corner of the covers to keep her warm and then looks around for a spare blanket. He can’t find one but the thought of dealing with anyone just to get one seems too much effort, so he merely rearranges the pillows and lays on his back, arms crossed over his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to say that after this, I'm going to be much slower with the publishing part of things. I'm currently writing their honeymoon and will most likely upload that once it's done but just don't hold your breath! I write everything by hand and the transcribe as a soft edit before revisions and that's gonna take a while. Subscribe so you get notified when I update!


End file.
